The Black Cobra
by GhostOfMusic
Summary: A falsely accused magician, Erik, and his companion Nadir leave the Mazanderan palace in search of a better life. After suffering a terrible loss, Erik hopes to forget his troubles, but when he meets a beautiful stranger, he follows his desires. On hiatus
1. Chapter 1: The Magician

**I do not own Phantom of the Opera in any shape, way or form; the rights belong to the Leroux family and Andrew Lloyd Webber. **

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_Where is he?_

Nasser let out an exasperated sigh and shut his eyes, passing a hand over his bronzed face. His magician had never been late to a performance before.

_One more minute...and he'll be sorry._ He toyed with his finely waxed mustache, pulling and smoothing it into a fine point.

The magician was scheduled to be here at precisely two o' clock, but it was already one and a half minutes past the hour with no sign of the entertainer. Nasser shifted his eyes over to the exasperated princess sitting on the daybed to his left and gave her a hopeful smile.

"Trust me, my dear...the wait is worth it."

Impatiently winding a strand of polished midnight hair around her ringed finger, Sabah sighed loudly and reclined dramatically on her daybed that was piled high with generous silks and pillows. She rested her bare arms above her head. "I do hope you're right. I am becoming rather hot sitting here in the sun." She gestured lazily to her male assistants, and they began to cool her with two large paper fans.

"He will be here." _Unless he wishes to have his hands cut off,_ the Shah thought wryly, the very idea causing a chuckle to rumble in his throat. His most prized magician would never want his talented hands to be sliced from his arms. He wasn't stupid, but why was he late today?

Reaching over to Sabah, Nasser smiled and brushed her heavily ringed hand. "My dearest, please don't fret. Come here."

The young woman reluctantly rose from her daybed, pulling her hand away from Nasser. She had only arrived at the palace three days ago from her home in Saudi Arabia to visit the Shah, and she was still tired from her journey. She did not have the time to sit around and wait for someone to entertain her.

A guard slipped in through the front doors of the gilded hall. "My lord, he is here."

Nasser straightened up in his cushioned seat at the sound of the guard's announcement and motioned for Sabah look. "Watch him. You won't be disappointed, my lady."

The guard opened the door to Nasser's chamber to bid entrance to Erik Ibrahim. At first Sabah was upset, because she did not see the magician immediately, but only moments later a broad smile spread across her golden face as she watched him enter.

He was a tall man, taller than the guard holding the door for him, and he wore a curious velvet cloak, colored dark red like spilled blood. He had long ebony hair that was tied back behind his head by a red ribbon with tails that trailed down his shoulders. Two large blue eyes stared out from his stiff face, scanning over his surroundings for a few moments before they returned to the Shah. The strangest thing about the magician, however, was the black mask that covered his face, only leaving his mouth and his chin exposed. The mask was very intricately painted, with silver and scarlet roses arching over his brow, their leaves reaching across his cheeks and over his nose. It seemed to sparkle and flash at Sabah as he turned his head slightly to look at her.

"My lord, my lady. Good afternoon."

His voice was unexpectedly deep, like the dull roar of the waves in the Caspian Sea, yet very soft, like the breeze that rustled the curtains. Sabah nodded at the magician to acknowledge him, and the Shah waved his hand impatiently.

"Well, get on with it, you're already lucky I haven't had your nose cut off for being late. Come on."

Jaleh thought she saw a murderous glint spark briefly in the magician's eyes, but when she blinked it was gone. The magician nodded his head slightly, stepped back, and let his red cloak float silently to the floor in a soft pile of velvet. He stood there, bare-chested, with a purple sash tied around his waist and a strange black medallion hanging on a chain around his neck. The magician displayed a wad of fabric dangling from a long wooden rod, and he dipped it into a small pail he had brought with him. He held the instrument to his face, as if he were examining it closely for some sort of flaw, a scratch or a tear.

All of a sudden, without warning, the magician uttered a sharp cry and the entire contraption seemed to burst into flame. He began to twirl the thing about in the air, and the fire danced wildly, snapping and cracking as it burned dangerously close to the magician's hand. He gave another shout, appeared to reach into the fire and pull out three blackbirds. The little animals alighted from his hand and flitted about near the ceiling before disappearing through a window above Sabah's head.

The young princess's heart fluttered, and her black eyes grew wide. The magician's arms began to glisten with sweat, his muscles twisting and flexing with all the agility of a dancer. The fire began to grow more intense, as did Sabah's fascination for the mysterious man. She could see his stony face behind the flames and watched the way his eyes steadily followed the fire. He looked like a cobra.

Nasser, meanwhile, had settled down back into his seat, satisfied. The magician had never disappointed him before, and he wouldn't disappoint him now. A smug grin lifted his dark lips and he reached for his silver goblet of red wine.

The name of the magician, Erik Ibrahim, was quite well-known throughout Mazanderan. Nasser liked to think that he had saved the brilliant wretch from a low life as a street performer downtown. That was how he had found Erik; on the dusty, weather beaten roads in the poor areas of the city, putting on small side shows for small crowds.

He'd first heard of him through one of his female assistants who had gone into town to purchase silks. According to her, the young man, dressed in filthy clothing and wearing a worn black mask on his face, performed astonishing tricks such as transforming a drinking glass into a little white bird right before her very eyes and setting water on fire. Intrigued, Nasser had sent for Erik and the man was brought before him. After watching him "audition" and perform some of his best tricks, Nasser adopted him into the royal staff. Erik was a reserved person and rarely spoke, but the Shah preferred to watch his tricks rather than listen to him talk.

When the magician had finished, he dipped his extinguished fire-rod into the pail again and bowed his head to Nasser and Sabah, who applauded his performance. The man's body was glowing with a sheen of perspiration from the heat, and his chest was rising up and down quite heavily; he was exhausted. Sabah couldn't take her eyes off of him.

"Very good, very good," the Shah announced loudly, motioning for the magician to approach Sabah. "Come and greet the princess."

The magician came up the marbled steps to Sabah's elaborate daybed. The young woman's heart nearly skipped a beat when he dropped to his knee and lowered his head to the floor. She caught a glimpse of a strange tattoo between his shoulder blades, something that looked like a bird, but he stood up again and her attention was immediately drawn to his face. His unblinking eyes stared down at her, examining her. He had a sharply angled jaw and a chiseled nose, brow and chin. The outer edge of his left ear was studded with beautiful little rubies and black onyx. The odd medallion he wore around his neck was shaped into a serpent's head with its fanged jaws wide open, gaping at Sabah, threatening to swallow her whole.

"Magician," she addressed him when she had found her voice, "your performance was very impressive."

He nodded gently, his hands clasped behind his back, but said nothing.

"I wish to see more of your tricks."

His gaze on her never wavered, but she sensed that he was a little irritated. "There is an execution tonight that I am to carry out, if you desire to attend." His dark voice was as smooth as the silks Sabah lay upon.

"You perform executions as well, magician?"

"Yes."

Sabah raised one sculpted eyebrow and stood up slowly, her brown eyes moving up and down his body once more, more slowly this time, taking in the defined structure of his form. "I will be there. And perhaps...afterwards...we can talk..." her thin hand lifted to brush against the trunk of his neck and his collarbone, but the magician stepped back from her, his icy blue eyes suddenly on fire.

"Don't touch me."

At first Sabah was upset and embarrassed, but then her brow furrowed and she cast him an equally hard glare. How dare he tell her to not touch him. She could touch him if she wanted to. She was a guest in this palace; she had the right to do as she pleased.

"You talk back to me, magician?" she said softly, crossing her arms over her chest. "You had better watch that tongue of yours, lest I have it cut out. And I must say, I would miss hearing that beautiful voice." She smirked, settling back down on her daybed. "Go."

The magician backed off slowly, his gaze still burning into Sabah's eyes for a few long moments before he turned, threw on his red cloak and swept silently out the door.

"My, my...you have become quite the little Sultana, haven't you?" Nasser commented, laughing and shifting in his seat. "My magician seems to have, ah...fired you up!"

Sabah chortled, brushing an elegant hand over her eyes. "He is mine. I do wish I could take him home with me, but he seems to bring you such good entertainment."

Nasser nodded, pulling at his mustache again. "Well, you may enjoy him while you can during your stay. I can arrange for him to sleep in your room, or have his supper with you, if you so wish."

"That would be lovely," Sabah replied quietly, flexing her fingers and giving the Shah a lopsided grin.

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Erik Ibrahim floated down the empty hall, the red cloak billowing and collapsing behind him, his bare feet soundless on the cold tile. Another silly performance for another silly guest. Did they never tire of his old tricks?

He stopped at a door and pushed it open gently to reveal his quarters. The room was quite simple; a plain, neatly made bed sitting against the opposite wall, a small cherry wardrobe at the west wall, and a bureau with a wash bowl and a pitcher on top.

Erik removed his cloak and hung it up in his wardrobe next to all of his other elaborate costumes that the Shah had provided for him. He removed his leather mask and placed it on top of the bureau. He filled the wash bowl with water and rubbed his face vigorously, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror--a quick flash of dark red, twisted flesh and healed lacerations--before he grabbed a towel to dry his face.

He walked out onto his little balcony, stretching his arms high above his head and arching his back. The pleasant June breeze immediately sought to comfort him, caressing his naked face and upper body as it floated past him. He could not help but smile as he rested his arms on the railing and gazed down at the palace grounds. There was no one wandering through the rose gardens today; everyone was sleeping, basking in the warm sun streaming through their windows. Erik could never understand why one would want to stay inside on such a beautiful day.

Nature was like a lover to him. Every day he looked forward to feeling the sun stroke his back and inhaling the faint scent of the rose petals as if the fragrance were a drug. One brief moment of happiness for every day.

Although palace life was quite luxurious, Erik was severely depressed. He was a prisoner of the Shah's, in a sense: he was not allowed to venture beyond the palace walls, and he was required to perform for the Shah and carry out executions. He was utterly sick of the whole business, but he feared that he would never leave this gilded jail, forced to perform stupid tricks and kill condemned prisoners for the rest of his years. If he resisted the Shah's requests, he would be punished, just as any other commoner would be. After all, he was not of royal blood.

He'd been here for not more than two years as a magician. The Shah had taken him off the streets and ordered that he perform only for him from that time on, despite Erik's feeble protests. He had enjoyed being outside, delighting small crowds with simple sleight of hand...he hadn't wanted to be locked up inside this palace, performing the same tricks day after day for the Shah and his endless stream of guests.

Erik felt something brush his foot and looked down to see Ensi, the little black cobra, gently squeezing her jaws around his ankle. He laughed, reaching down to pull her off, and held her up in front of his face.

"Bashu will not be happy about this," he told her sternly, looking into her beady black eyes. Her forked tongue flickered innocently at him, tasting his scent.

Ensi had come into his room a number of times, sometimes slipping into his bed at night and biting his toes to wake him up. He did not have to worry about snakebite; her fangs had been removed by the serpent master, Bashu. He had to admit he enjoyed her company when she visited him, even though she was not one to make conversation.

He placed the reptile atop his shoulders and Ensi coiled around his throat, her tongue fluttering against his face. "I will let you stay for a while," he told her, reaching up to stroke her cold hard head. "Only if you behave yourself, however."

She tasted his nose, and Erik had to laugh out loud.

Only a brief moment of happiness.


	2. Chapter 2: The Execution

"Go on. Move along."

The three guards pressed closely behind the condemned prisoner, herding him like a pack of dogs into a small clammy chamber. It was completely dark except for a band of light coming from beneath a door, the door that would lead outside into the Shah's private arena. The sentenced man could not help but feel a slight flutter of excitement; he had not been outside for months.

The prisoner, Ozhan, was a gaunt, scraggly criminal. Once stocky and powerful, he was now a thin shadow of what he had been, with black greasy hair that reached down to his shoulders and a white hollow face. His arms and legs were scarred from the occasional beatings, and his incredibly filthy clothes dangled and swayed on his frame like a torn bed sheet. Ozhan had been kept in the Shah's dungeons for about a year now, wasting away, counting the days on his walls until the moment he would be put to death.

He'd been sentenced for murdering two women. He did not deny committing the crime, nor did he feel any remorse for his acts. He had simply become angry, so angry that he couldn't control his acts. It had just happened.

"How long do I have to wait?" Ozhan asked his captors, shifting his bound hands uncomfortably.

"Not long," replied one of the huge guards gruffly, reaching to untie the prisoner's wrists. Ozhan stared at him.

"What are you doing?"

The guard did not answer and handed him a massive pike, along with a finely sharpened broadsword. Ozhan was perplexed. Why were they arming him if he was going out to supposedly meet his death?

The prisoner watched as his guards backed off and left the small chamber, shutting and locking the barred door behind him. Ozhan was left standing alone in the dark room, armed with these two deadly weapons and completely confused as to why they had been given to him. Surely he wasn't supposed to fight his executioner...

"Ah!" he cried out loud, his face brightening with a sudden realization. Fighting his executioner! This wasn't a death sentence; it was a challenge. If he could kill his executioner, he would be set free. This task would be ridiculously easy, considering the heavy weaponry he carried; just one well-aimed blow to the head, the neck, the chest, and he would walk out of the Shah's palace without a scratch on him.

"Prepare to meet _your_ death, my friend," Ozhan rasped, his yellow teeth gleaming in the dim light.

"Magician."

Erik turned from the mirror on his bureau to see a guard craning his neck around the door to his room.  
"Get out of here. I would suggest knocking next time," Erik snapped coldly, tugging his black cloak around his shoulders.

"I am just informing you that the prisoner is prepared and that my lord and the good lady are waiting for you."

"Tell them that patience is a virtue," Erik instructed him, looking down at his hands as he slipped on a pair of black leather gauntlets. He flexed his fingers to hear the material squeak as it stretched and softened.

The guard was still there. Erik cast him an icy side glance. "Go."

When the man had finally left, Erik reached inside the top drawer of the bureau and pulled out a short, thin cord fashioned into a slender hangman's noose. He laid it out on his bed, examining the knot for possible fraying or tearing.

The Punjab lasso, as it was affectionately called, had been faithful to Erik for quite a long time now. He'd originally made the catgut noose when he had lived on the streets, to defend himself against those who might prey upon him. A disfigured young man seen wandering about town was taken as a bad omen, and occasionally a resident or two would come out and try to make trouble. If the encounter became violent and an aggressive hand was locked around his throat or an arm wrapped around his head, Erik would strike.  
Killing was frighteningly easy for him. All it took was a deft flick of the wrist, a quick jerk and perhaps a foot placed firmly in the back of the victim, and that was that. Easy.

He exhaled slowly through his nose and stood up, shutting his eyes and stretching his long arms high towards the ceiling. Just another performance. That's all it was going to be. Not an execution...a performance.

Admittedly, it was not an easy task for Erik to take a human life. He had to mentally prepare himself for the event, either by standing on the balcony and drinking in the beauty of the gardens, lying face down on his bed and meditating, or, rarely, smoking hashish. He didn't smoke very often, as it was not good for his voice, but if Erik was suffering from a panic attack before a performance he would take it to calm his nerves.

Today, he contented himself with simply going out on the balcony, watching the sun as it smoothly changed from a pale pink to a fiery orange and sank into the east horizon. He knew that when the scent of the roses faded it was time to leave for the performance.

He cast a final glance at himself in the mirror on his bureau. He looked like Death in mortal form, with his hideous mask painted to look like a grinning skull and a necklace made of a dog's teeth looped around his neck. He intended to terrify his prey.

Erik inhaled once, straightened the collar of his cloak and walked silently out of his room.

His audience was waiting.

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"I must say, I might faint from all this excitement," Sabah declared, waving her paper fan a little faster in the lingering afternoon heat. She slipped another plump grape into her mouth and squeezed it with her teeth, savoring the snapping sound.

"I hope not, my dear; you will miss a spectacle," Nasser replied, chuckling and swirling his goblet of wine. "By the time the performance begins, you will have forgotten all about this heat."

The two of them were resting on a raised platform on the east side of the small arena. Strong iron bars were erected around this platform to protect them from the prisoner's wild rampage as he ran from his executioner. Nasser sat comfortably in his cushioned chair while Sabah, once again, reclined on a daybed that five servants had struggled to carry out of the palace.

The execution was to begin in a few short minutes. Several of the Shah's man-servants were going about and lighting the torches around the arena, which was obviously well-worn from use; it was scattered with sparse patches of dead grass that were sprinkled with dry soil and pebbles. Sabah could see deep ruts and disturbed areas in the dirt, possibly made by prisoner and executioner as they grappled to gain the upper hand.  
This small field was, like the platform, fenced. The bars were too high to climb and too strong to knock over. When Sabah had questioned Nasser about the fence, he'd explained that the executioner was to be locked in with the prisoner, which excited the princess greatly.

Two female slaves approached Sabah with soft blankets and voluptuous silk pillows so she could be more comfortable while she watched the performance. The princess snatched them from the slave's hands possessively, wrapping her arms around the pillows and stroking the silk cases with her hands.  
She was restless. The magician had been on her mind all day, and she was itching to get her hands on him and seduce him with her female prowess. After the execution, she planned to invite him to her room and have her way with him. It had been a long time since she had seen such a strange, mysterious man. She wanted to learn his tricks, his strengths and his weaknesses. She wanted to explore him.

"How will the magician kill the prisoner?" she asked Nasser, slipping another grape between her lips and rolling it about with her tongue.

"Ah…I don't want to reveal too much of the surprise, but he uses a device called the Punjab lasso," Nasser answered, stretching his arms and folding them behind his head.

"A lasso?" Sabah grinned, licking her lips. "How interesting."

The Shah suddenly smiled broadly and pointed towards the opposite side of the arena. "Look, my dear…he's here."

Sabah sat up immediately, stretching her body like a cat to see the magician. She spotted a man in a long black robe entering the caged killing field, barefoot and wearing a frightening skull mask on his face. He carried no weapon in his hands. He walked into the center of the arena and stopped, coolly tugging at the gauntlets on his hands.

"The prisoner," a soldier cried out, and he opened a heavy door in the north wall. Out crept a horrible creature of a man, Ozhan, blinking in the fading light and struggling to carry a huge sword and a long pike. He shuffled out into the dirt, warily casting glances at the soldiers that watched him from behind the bars. Sabah could hear him muttering quietly to himself.

"Bastards…bloody bastards."

With a few strange jerks, Ozhan turned his head to see Erik standing there calmly, motionless, waiting for him to make the first move.

"Hallo…what do we have here?"

Ozhan approached the magician slowly, his pike and broadsword pointed towards his enemy's gut. His wide gray eyes darted over the stranger's tall form, lingering on the bizarre mask he wore. "Who the hell are you?"

Erik didn't answer.

Ozhan snorted, blowing gray dust from his nostrils, and he gave a wide yellow grin. "Ah. A quiet one, eh? A shy executioner? Come on, friend. Are you afraid to cut off my head? Afraid of blood?"

Without warning, he thrust his powerful broadsword forward, hoping to bury the blade in the magician's innards, but the magician stepped aside with a grace so soft and elegant it was almost beautiful. Ozhan stared at him.

"A dancer, eh? You want to dance with the sword?" He laughed and stepped closer to Erik, who had dropped into a low crouch and was watching the prisoner's eyes closely. Looking for a sign of attack. Looking for a sign of weakness.

Ozhan stabbed the air with his pike, the tip of the blade inches from Erik's stomach, but he could not seem to touch his enemy. Each time he thrust at him, the magician danced away from him on nimble legs, his face hard and calm. Ozhan's frustration began to mount.

"Damn you!" he shouted out in a rattling voice, swinging the heavy sword like a madman. Surely he would strike him at any moment…any minute he'd feel the blade meet flesh and bone, hear the man's anguished cry of pain and watch him die in the dirt…and he'd be a free man!

In a sly maneuver, Ozhan suddenly swiped at the magician's bare feet with his sword while thrusting forwards with his pike. Erik leapt up to dodge the weapon, but somehow the sword blade managed to catch his calf and he landed heavily on his side. He immediately slapped his hand on the cut, clamping his jaws tightly against the sharp pain, and felt warm blood beneath his palm.

"Ha!" cried Ozhan.

Sabah's heart was beating wildly in her breast as she stared at her magician lying there in the dirt. He was injured. Her blood burned with the thrill of the game; who was going to die now?

As Ozhan lifted his sword to deliver a fatal blow to Erik's head, a thin, black cord hissed from the magician's hand and wrapped itself around the prisoner's neck. Ozhan's eyes widened.

Erik pulled the rope taut.

Ozhan was jerked to the ground, lying face first in the dirt, and Erik made his final move. He struggled to stand up, placed his left foot on the man's head, and yanked back as hard as he could. The prisoner's throat was crushed, and he was dead.

"Go assist him," the Shah muttered to the soldier standing by his side. He folded his hands in his lap as he watched his magician examine his cut leg. Long tears of dark blood trickled down his white calf and made powered puddles in the dirt by his foot.

"He's injured," Sabah said.

"I know that," Nasser replied shortly. "He will be helped back to his room."

"Will I be able to speak with him?" Sabah asked innocently.

"I'm certain you will."

The magician was helped back inside the palace by two soldiers, the corpse was taken away, and the torches put out.  
The performance was over.

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Erik watched the royal doctor wrap strip after strip of white fabric around his long gash, and with each layer, the bloodstains beneath started to fade. Erik's blue eyes shifted smoothly from his injury to the doctor's face, watching him work. He was a little wary of a stranger touching him anywhere on his body.

"The Shah is giving you a servant to perform duties for you temporarily," the doctor informed him, raising dark eyes to look into the magician's ashen face. Erik nodded, suffering from a mild headache and too exhausted to reply. He leaned his head back against the headboard of his bed.

The doctor packed up his supplies, snapped his bag shut and stood up from his chair. "I'll leave new dressings for you so you can clean the wound," he told him, smoothing his black hair tipped with silver. "It's somewhat deep, so take care if you walk about. No strenuous activity until it has completely scabbed."

Erik nodded again, eager to be left alone so he could rest. The doctor set a neatly folded stack of fresh bandages on his dresser, and then exited the room.

Carefully shifting his body, Erik stretched himself out on his bed, turning his head into the pillow and breathing deeply. He always had to rest his fevered mind after carrying out an execution. He had to force the guilt from his mind, make himself realize that it was only routine; otherwise, he feared he would go mad.

_Only a performance,_ he told himself as his tired eyes fluttered closed.


	3. Chapter 3: Aisha

Aisha wiped her wet hands on a dishrag and sighed softly, casting a weary glance at Jaleh beside her. Her hands were sore from cutting Sabah's fruit all afternoon and her legs were begging for just a few minutes of rest.

"Are you all right, Aisha?" Jaleh asked her softly, her green eyes filling with concern as she brushed a stray wisp of hair out of her eyes. Aisha gave a smile for her friend and nodded. "Yes…I'm afraid I'm just tired," she answered in a hushed tone, pushing aside a pile of freshly cut apple slices.

Jaleh nodded in agreement. "Her lady Sabah has been quite demanding as of late." The young woman smoothed her hair with her hand, rolling her eyes and making Aisha giggle. "Requesting food and drink every hour, taking baths three times a day! It's a wonder the woman hasn't eaten and washed herself to death!"

Aisha couldn't help but laugh out loud at this statement and had to cover her lips with her hand to keep from being heard by the other women in the kitchen. When she took a deep breath and gathered herself, she squeezed Jaleh's hand. "Ah well, my dear. Just be silent and do your work, and all will be well."

Admittedly, though, Aisha was just as tired of Sabah's constant demands. Ever since that woman arrived at the palace she had not been off her feet for at least seven hours. Before the princess's visit she had spent most of her time cleaning the tiled palace floors, preparing meals for the guards or tending to the Shah's rose gardens. Now she spent almost all of her time in the kitchen.

She turned around and made the mistake of glancing in the small mirror hanging on the wall. Seeing her reflection only made her more miserable. Her black hair, tied back into a loose tail, was frizzed and standing up from her head, and her face was lined with exhaustion. Her brown eyes were slightly red from lack of sleep and she glimpsed saw dark circles beneath them.

Aisha had been working as a servant girl at Nasser Shah's palace since she was a little girl. Her mother, Pari, had been in the Shah's harem, and her father had been a palace guard. She had never come to know her father, as her parent's relationship had been short-lived, but she adored her gentle mother and always greeted her with a hug around her legs. Pari died when Aisha was only eight years old as a result of eating poisoned food intended for the Shah. Many people said that Pari had saved the Shah from assassination, but Aisha felt no pride from her mother's death.

Now, as a young woman of nineteen, Aisha was still in the Shah's service and she was slowly coming to understand that she would probably be here until the day she died…after all, a servant was loyal to their master for life. The thought of such a life terrified her.

"Aisha."

She turned at the sound of a male voice and laid eyes on one of the Shah's officers. They rarely came into the servant's kitchen, and they never spoke to her. What could they want with her?

Aisha came forward slowly, setting her dishrag on the table and anxiously adjusting her wild hair with one hand. She could feel the eyes of the other women burning into her back as she came up to the man. "Yes, sir?"

The officer motioned her to approach, his cold eyes gazing down on her. "You've been selected to assist my lord's magician."

Trying to hide her surprise, Aisha nodded. "May I ask why he needs my assistance?"

"He was wounded while carrying out an execution," the officer responded in a clipped tone. "He will not be able to perform his duties for some time and has been assigned a servant."

Aisha swallowed. "Of course, sir…just give me a moment to clean myself up."

She came back to Jaleh, who had been standing near the two of them in order to try and overhear their conversation. Her eyes were wide and she leaned towards Aisha urgently. "What did he tell you?"

Aisha gave her friend a faint smile. "I've been called to assist the Shah's magician. Apparently he has been injured and needs a servant."

Jaleh gave a small gasp. "The magician?" She repeated in a hushed tone. "I've never seen him…but I've heard from the harem that he gives the most astonishing performances. You must tell me about his magic tricks when you return tonight, Aisha."

Aisha's smile widened. "I will, Jaleh." She took her friend's hand and gave the girl a soft kiss on the cheek before leaving the kitchen with the officer, her heart beginning to thump faster in her breast.

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Sabah carefully adjusted her glossy hair adorned with roses before she even touched the doorknob to the magician's room, tucking any stray strands behind her ear. She straightened her black silk sari, checking to ensure it wrapped snugly around her slim body, and opened the door.

Her magician lay on his bed with his bandaged leg resting atop his bed sheets. Apparently he had been sleeping, because he blinked his eyes open and lifted his head from his pillows, startled. When he laid eyes on Sabah, he propped his body up on his elbows.

"My lady…what are you doing here?"

Sabah smirked and shut the magician's door, approaching his bed and folding her thin hands delicately in front of her.

"Nasser Shah was kind enough to invite me to your quarters."

Erik raised an eyebrow. "But _I_ did not invite—"

Sabah placed a long finger on his lips to silence him, sitting down beside him on his mattress. "I've been waiting to see you after your wonderful performance." She raised her other hand to brush lightly against the magician's mask. "And I want to be with you."

Erik pushed away her hands. "My lady, I don't—"

Ignoring him completely, Sabah tried to slip her hand beneath his mask while the other trailed down to his leg. This was a mistake; Erik roughly shoved her hands away from his body, his eyes on fire and his jaw set.

"I've told you not to touch me."

At first, Sabah was a little frightened by his reaction, but her anger started to simmer. He would submit to her desires, whether he wanted to or not.

"You _will_ do as I ask, magician. I will touch you if I so please, and you cannot say otherwise."

"My name is Erik, and you will not touch me," he snapped.

The door opened again, and in stepped a burly palace officer, along with a small girl. This second intrusion did nothing to soothe Erik's raging temper.

"What the hell are you doing in my room?" he demanded of the officer, who motioned to the girl.

"This is your servant."

Erik looked the girl over. She was a little thing, and rather disheveled, what with her fuzzed hair and plain, slightly stained work dress. She glanced up at him with large, tired eyes, her hands clasped before her.

"_Sayyed,_ master."

Her voice was very soft, almost unintelligible, but that wasn't important. She was his servant for a time, and she would perform his duties.

"Thank you. You may leave now," Erik told the officer, who left the room immediately, but Sabah remained, her arms crossed. Erik glared at her.

"You may leave, too. Talk with me tomorrow."

She was still angry, but satisfied enough to exit the room without making another fuss. Erik was left alone with his new servant girl. He turned his head to look at her.

"Come here."

She obeyed, approaching his head and kneeling down before him.

"What is your name?"

"Aisha," she replied quietly.

His eyes cooled slightly, his boiling temper now simmering. "My name is Erik."

"Sayyed Erik," she said, lifting her eyes to look at him.

Erik smiled. She knew her manners. "Aisha, please bring me that bowl over there on my bureau."

Aisha stood up and did as she was told, bringing him the bowl full of spiced almonds. He thanked her and began to eat some while she knelt again beside him. He offered her some but she politely declined.

"Where do you sleep?" he asked her.

"In the servant's quarters, Sayyed Erik."

"Are you comfortable there?"

"Very comfortable."

Erik assumed otherwise; servants were rarely treated with kid gloves in the palace. She obviously did not want to focus on herself.

"I will dismiss you at eight o' clock each night and ask that you be here at eight o' clock in the morning. I require that you bring me fresh dressings for my wound, water and my meals. I will also have you send messages to Nasser Shah for me and bring me messages from him. If you refuse to perform these simple tasks you will be punished appropriately. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Sayyed Erik."

She was well trained, this servant girl; she did not flinch or show emotion at the mention of each task. He could see that she would be quick and quiet, a helpful assistant.

"Good. Now go sit in my chair."

She gave him a quizzical look.

"You are very tired. Would you not like to rest for a while?"

"Yes, Sayyed, I would like to rest very much," she replied quickly, obviously pleased that he had given this opportunity for her. She sat down in his chair, pulling up her legs and resting her head against the back of the seat. Her attempts to stay awake ultimately failed, and she soon drifted off under Erik's watchful eyes. He let her sleep for an hour before calling out to her and dismissing her from his room.

"Good night, Aisha," he told her.

"Good night, Sayyed Erik." Her slim hand disappeared from the doorknob and she was gone.

------------------------------

"What is he like?" Jaleh asked Aisha excitedly from under the bed covers, her eyes wide in the dark and her lips spread in a smile. Aisha giggled a little, struggling to keep her eyelids from closing completely.

"He's quite kind, actually," she said, toying with her hand. "He offered me almonds, and he let me sleep in his chair."

"Did he do magic tricks?" Jaleh demanded to know.

Aisha shook her head. "No, not today. He looks very strange, Jaleh. He wears an odd mask, and he had a most frightening necklace of animal's teeth."

"Tell him to do magic tomorrow, Aisha," Jaleh said excitedly, plastering a hand over her lips to muffle her anxious laugh.

"I will try, Jaleh. I don't know if he's one for fun and games so soon."

Her friend soon fell asleep beneath the starchy blankets, but Aisha remained awake for some time, her eyes traveling over the low, sagging ceiling and the water stained walls. Indeed, the servant's quarters were not exactly luxurious…over two hundred women slept here each night in this small building. The beds were stiff and the bed sheets itchy, but at least they had a place to lay their head. Aisha was safe from the elements, and for that she was thankful.

The magician's black mask drifted throughout her dreams as she slept.


	4. Chapter 4: The Rose Gardens

Erik watched his servant girl carefully as she helped him remove the bandages from his leg and set them aside on his bed. The long cut in his flesh was healing, but it had not yet scabbed, so it still stung when Aisha applied warm water and a salve to clean it. She noticed his slight flinch and immediately looked away, ashamed that she was hurting her master.

"A thousand apologies, Sayyed," she said softly, meekly picking up a new strip of linen and wrapping it around his leg. Erik gave a small grin.

"It's all right, Aisha. It's not your doing."

She gave a little smile in return, but still felt guilty as she put away the washbowl and the damp cloth. Breathing a soft sigh, Aisha sat in Erik's chair and folded her hands, turning her head so she could look out the window to his balcony.

Erik's eyes lingered on her face for a moment. His servant was a very gentle, incredibly quiet girl, but he had to admit he enjoyed her company. He had never had a friend, a companion, in his life before. He was not a very social person, and preferred to be left alone, but even he felt the pangs of loneliness that a human experiences when he is away from his peers for too long.

"Would you like to go into the rose gardens with me, Aisha? I need some fresh air."

Aisha, slightly surprised, glanced up at him. "Oh…of course, Sayyed. That would be very nice." She stood up from the chair as Erik sat up and started to get off the bed. She came to his side to help him stand. He appreciated the feeling of her thin arm looped through his.

"Come, Sayyed…I shall help you out into the gardens."

The two of them walked through the palace doors and into the Shah's peaceful gardens. Erik took pleasure in breathing in the warm scent of the roses, mingled with the cool fragrance of water from the ponds. The sun shone down gently on his back, and white, fluffed clouds hung motionless in the crisp blue sky.

Erik went over to one of the ponds that was shaded by a small apple tree and reclined on the soft grass, slipping one arm back behind his head. He let his other hand trail in the cool water beside him, calmed by the soft splashes he made.

Aisha, meanwhile, knelt down in the grass and began to look around her, unable to keep a soft smile from her face. She had only been to the rose gardens a few times to pick fruit or roses for the Shah and his visitors. Lone servants were not allowed to wander around in the gardens, but they could come if they were accompanied by their masters.

Her eyes flicked briefly to Erik, who was spread lazily on the grass, his hand moving back and forth in the pond and his eyelids starting to close. He turned his head a little to the side, and the precious gems that adorned his ear glittered in the sunlight.

The other women hadn't been making up stories when they had told Aisha that the magician was very mysterious. Indeed, he had said very little to her over the past two days she had been in his service, and he never removed the mask he wore on his face. She dared not ask him to take it off; it would be highly disrespectful of her master and very rude.

Though she didn't want to admit it to herself, Aisha had begun to take a liking for Erik. Unlike Nasser Shah and the other guests she had served, he was quite gentle and kind. He did not put pressure on her to finish her tasks, and he sometimes offered her his food.

However, these feelings of friendship for Erik were improper, and she tried not to dwell on them too often. She was just his servant girl, here to help him for a short time.

Aisha lowered her eyes when Erik turned to looked at her, averting her gaze instead to a small sparrow that had alighted on the apple tree above them. It chirped madly at her, cocking its head to the side and fluttering its wings before it darted away into the sky.

Erik chortled a little at Aisha's amused expression. "Have you been in the gardens before, Aisha?"

"Only once or twice," she replied, brushing a hand across the grass. "It is very beautiful, Sayyed."

Erik sighed through parted lips, his eyes growing heavy once more. "Yes, it is quite peaceful. I come here as often as I can when I am not performing."

"Do you perform every day, Sayyed?" Aisha asked him, lifting her large reluctant eyes to meet his face.

"Yes, unfortunately. Nasser Shah requires that I perform for him in the evening, and if he has visitors, multiple times a day. It tires me to put on so many shows so often."

He opened his eyes again to look over at Aisha. "How long have you been in the Shah's service?"

Aisha reclined on the grass as well, supporting her weight with one forearm lying flat on the ground. The sun was making her feel lazy, like a cat. "My whole life, Sayyed. My mother was a harem girl. Her name was Pari."

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

Erik sighed. "I'm sorry…I would go mad if I was employed for as many years as you have been. I have only been in the Shah's service for two years."

"If you don't mind my asking, Sayyed…how did Nasser Shah find you?"

Erik smirked, adjusting his bandaged leg so it bent a little at the knee. "I used to perform in the streets until he sent for me. It was quite enjoyable, actually. I liked seeing the expressions on the faces of my audiences." He laughed a little as he thought back to those pleasant memories. "I remember a little girl who used to come to me and say '_magus, magus! Again!' _She always wanted me to turn a piece of coal into a dove."

It amazed Aisha how tender Erik's eyes had become. His smile, already soft, grew very gentle and he gazed off into the sky as he remembered the little girl. His expression gave her confidence, and she decided to venture further, desiring to learn more of her master's life.

"Where is your family, Sayyed? Are they here at the palace as well?"

Erik turned his head to look at her, broken out of his reverie. The soft look in his eyes had vanished, replaced by a cold, empty gaze that disturbed her. She immediately knew she had crossed a line and lowered her eyes. "I'm sorry, Sayyed, forgive me. I was just curious—"

"Don't apologize," he told her quietly, and she fell silent, still keeping her eyes on the ground and listening to what he had to say.

"No one…no one has asked me that before," he continued softly, turning his head again so that he was looking up at the blue sky broken by the branches of the apple tree. His chest rose and fell in a deep, heavy sigh, and he lifted his hand out of the pond, watching the water drip off his spindly fingers.

"I don't have a family."

It was a simple answer, but Aisha heard the obvious pain in his voice. Now she understood why she had seen that empty look in his eyes; he was an orphan. No parents, no siblings, no grandparents or godparents.

Like her.

"I'm very sorry for you, Sayyed." Aisha whispered, saying a brief, silent prayer for Allah to grant Erik peace and love in his life. "I, too, do not have a family…my father was a palace guard. I never knew him. He could still be employed in the Shah's service, and I would not know it."

"And what of your mother?" He asked her, folding both of his hands on his chest now.

Aisha sighed. "She was poisoned."

"My sympathies."

She smiled sadly. "Thank you, Sayyed."

Erik soon began to doze, and Aisha found her own eyes beginning to slip closed. The sun was so warm on her back and in her hair, and the sound of Erik's hand slowly sweeping through the pond was soothing.

A sudden cold sensation at her ankle woke her. She glanced down, and her eyes widened, her muscles tensed and she gave a small gasp. A smooth black cobra was coiled near her foot, head lifted high and tongue fluttering at her.

"Oh!" she cried. Her first instinct was to pull her foot away, but, gripped with the fear that it might bite her, she remained perfectly still.

Erik's eyes snapped open and he sat up. "What's the matter?" he said sharply, a trace of alarm in his voice. However, when he saw the cobra, he began to laugh. Bewildered, Aisha could only watch with her eyes wide as he leaned forward and scooped up the snake in his hand.

"Be careful, it might bite you!" she warned, scooting herself away from the reptile.

To her surprise, Erik merely chuckled and allowed the snake to wind around his arm. "This is Ensi," he explained, stroking the cobra's cold hard head with a finger. "Haven't you seen her in the palace? She's taken quite a liking to me over the past month or so."

"Won't she attack you?" Aisha drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around them. She didn't like snakes.

"Certainly not," Erik said, meeting Ensi's beady black eyes. "Her fangs have been removed, and besides, she is a gentle creature. Here, won't you hold her?" His lips rose in a rare excited smile and he stretched out his arms bearing the snake.

Aisha started to protest, but Erik put the cobra on her anyway, draping the cold animal around her shoulders. Ensi lifted her head to taste the girl's ear, her tail beginning to wrap softly around her neck. Aisha shivered, and Erik's grin began to fade.

"You do not like snakes?"

She shook her head quickly, forcing a polite smile. "I'm sorry, I'm not very fond of them."

"Oh…forgive me."

He reluctantly took the snake from Aisha, murmuring something she could not understand to Ensi and kissing her head before setting her free on the grass. The cobra slithered away through the grass and disappeared into the brush. Aisha glanced quickly at Erik, who was looking quite disappointed, his brief happiness gone. She had upset him.

"I'm sorry, Sayyed. I did not mean to hurt you," she said hurriedly, hoping to comfort her master. He gave a small smile and shook his head.

"You have not hurt me. Think nothing of it."

He stood up slowly and began to head back for the palace doors, limping slightly as he put weight on his injured leg. Aisha had a mind to stand up and help him, but she was so ashamed of herself she hadn't the nerve to face him. He had been so eager to show her the snake, so pleased that he had found someone who shared his love of reptiles, but she had disappointed him by revealing her fear.

However, through their earlier conversation and this very brief interaction with Erik's pet, Aisha now understood what Erik desired most of all.

He wanted a friend.


	5. Chapter 5: Daring

Over the next week, it was obvious that Sabah had become depressed after Erik's angry outburst. She refused to carry on conversation with the Shah and preferred to sleep and mope in her room, surrounded by harem girls who tried everything to cheer her up. For many hours she lay in bed, crying or snapping at visitors, and the royal staff was disturbed.

When Nasser finally learned of the cause of Sabah's unhappiness, he became angry and one day stalked up to the magician's quarters, intending to put the man in his place.

Upon reaching the door, he knocked twice and opened it quickly, revealing his magician sitting in bed and gently stretching his injured leg. The man looked up immediately at the sound of the Shah's arrival, his eyebrow raised.

"My lord?..."

Nasser shot him an icy stare, casting a few quick glances around the plain room. It was empty.

"Why have you rejected Sabah?" He demanded to know, approaching the magician. Erik stood up slowly as the Shah drew closer, glaring down at the shorter man.

"I do not wish to be with her," he said simply, "and she bothers me."

Nasser's face grew as hard as stone. "I don't care if you don't want to be with her," he snapped, folding his arms tightly across his chest. "You will do whatever she asks of you, even if I have to send two guards in here and force you to comply."

Erik gave a faint smile and shrugged. "Do what you will."

Nasser looked like he was about to explode; his twisted face had turned red and Erik could see his hands clench, just itching to wrap around his neck.

"If I didn't value you so highly as an entertainer, I'd have you roasted over a spit," the Shah hissed, coming close to Erik and tilting his head back to face the towering magician. "I will send Sabah up here one last time when she is well, and if you refuse her again, you will be very, very sorry."

Erik's smile did not fade.

The Shah, irritated out of his mind, swept out of the room and slammed the door. Erik sighed and went to wash his face, removing his mask as he approached his mirror. He was not concerned about the Shah's warnings, because Nasser was weak and his threats were always empty. Erik was a rare gem in the palace. His shows were highly anticipated and the Shah enjoyed every single one of them. Nasser could never kill his magician.

"Sayyed?"

Several gentle knocks and a soft voice sounded from behind Erik's door. He dried his face with his towel, put on his mask and answered the caller, already knowing who would be standing behind the door.

Indeed, Aisha had arrived early, which was a little unusual for her. She always liked to arrive at exactly eight o' clock. She bowed slightly before him and smiled as Erik let her enter his room.

"You're quite early," he commented, returning to his bureau. He opened a drawer and began sifting through a small box of jewelry, picking up various rings and examining them in the light. Aisha watched him quietly from where she stood in front of the door and again a shy smile crossed her face.

"Yes, Sayyed. I was sent here early by the guards."

He cast her a puzzled glance, slipping a large ruby ring onto his hand. "Why?"

She sighed. "I'm no longer required to be in your service, seeing as you are almost completely healed now."

"Oh." Erik slowly let his hand drop back down to his side and he closed the drawer. He'd forgotten that Aisha was only serving him temporarily. It was strange...he felt a little more disappointed than he had expected. She had been a good companion and a helpful servant.

"What will you do now?" He asked her, taking a seat in his chair and crossing his legs.

She gave a little shrug. "I will continue to work in the kitchen and clean the palace floors."

Erik's brow creased deeply in disapproval. "You don't want to be doing that dirty work, do you?"

"Oh no, Sayyed, I don't mind, really," she assured him quickly, coming closer to him and sitting on the edge of his bed. "It is my duty, and the duty of the other women I work with. I enjoy it."

His lips rose up in a sad smile. "No, you don't."

She opened her mouth to counter him again, but she did not want to keep lying to her former master. He was right; she hated the work, but she didn't dare speak her thoughts aloud to the women or the palace staff, for fear someone would tell the Shah about the ungrateful servant girl.

Erik leaned forward, clasping his hands together and resting his forearms on his knees. His eyes fixed themselves on her face, examining her. Aisha dropped her gaze out of habit and swallowed, staring down at her hands in her lap. She always felt nervous when he looked at her like that.

"What do _you_ want to do, Aisha?"

She reluctantly raised her eyes to look at him. He was still staring at her like a snake, like the cobra he loved so much and she feared so greatly...and like a little doormouse, she was caught in the snake's gaze.

It was quite strange, really. She had been his servant girl for a week and yet, she never noticed how...beautiful...his eyes were. Bright blue, like the eyes of the white tiger in Nasser's menagerie. Like ice. She could see streaks of darker, richer blue embedded in his irises, spreading out from his small pupils like the points of a star. That's what they were...two stars staring at her.

Aisha inhaled sharply and blinked.

"I want to go outside," she said.

"Out in the gardens?"

"No." She sighed again, a little more deeply, and stood up. "I want to go outside of the palace. I've never gone into town before. You've been there, you know what it's like. Can you take me?"

Erik's eyebrows rose up high on his forehead. "You must know the risks involved; if the Shah finds out about this, he'll throw us into the dungeons."

Aisha smiled. "He won't find out. We'll come back before your performance."

It was surprising to Erik how quickly she had become so bold and daring. Why, only a few minutes ago she had been a shy, quiet little servant girl. Now she wanted to climb over the palace walls and walk about town, hiding from guards and exploring the different shops and looking at the different people.

He liked that.

Standing up slowly, he grinned and nodded slightly. "Come with me. I'll give you a tour of Mazanderan."

---------------------------

"Has the princess come to your room yet, Nadir? Seems she's been avoiding you...can't imagine why."

The guards laughed, slapping the disgruntled Chief of Police on the back as he sat hunched over at the bar, weakly swirling a glass of cold water in his hand. The men's obnoxious guffaws were becoming incredibly annoying and were starting to grate painfully against his eardrums. Couldn't they leave him in peace for at least five minutes?

"No, she has not come to my room, thank God," he mumbled, taking another sip of the water. The guards exploded into another barrage of laughs and swatted each other on their arms.

"Why's that, Nadir? Is she too much for you to handle?"

Nadir sighed and moved away from the group, wandering outside with the glass still in his hand. _So much for a peaceful afternoon,_ he thought grudgingly, swirling the cool water around in his mouth. The guards had not stopped teasing him about Sabah since she arrived at the palace; he was the only one on the royal force who had not tried to entice the girl to sleep with him. The other men, blinded by their stupidity and animalistic desires, had tried and failed to seduce her, but instead of falling into an embarrassed silence, they chose to nag and bother him instead, repeatedly asking him when he was going to try and take her to his room.

It was clear that the princess did not want any of them. She had a strong fixation on the Shah's magician, and he had heard rumors that the magician was rejecting her, which in turn had enraged Nasser. If the magician wasn't a fool, he'd let Sabah do as she pleased. The Shah's punishments were not pleasant.

Nadir's eyes wandered smoothly across the street, occasionally stopping on a passing citizen carrying their shopping, cradling a child or pulling hard on the tether of a stubborn mule. His eyes were trained for this calm examination of people as he had been in the police force for quite some time. He knew how to spot the bulge of a pistol or the slim shape of a knife. He watched men's faces for signs of nervousness and observed skittish or unusual behavior. At this time of day, there was very little chance for fights or robberies, and Nadir was relaxed.

Something caught his eye; a swish of a black cloak.

Nadir turned his head and saw the Shah's magician walking down the street, wearing a large cloak around his shoulders, the hood over his head, and a baggy red tunic tied loosely at his chest. Walking beside him was a young girl dressed in a blue sari and a black headscarf, which she clutched too tightly at her neck.

Immediately Nadir was suspicious.

What he noticed first was the strange way the magician was dressed. It was a hot day, and it would be unwise to wear such a large cloak and to hood your head. The girl, on the other hand, was wearing traditional dress, but Nadir could see her eyes darting back and forth, down the street and lingering on corners.

Knowing that they were not supposed to be out here in the first place, Nadir coolly finished off his water, cast a final glance at the laughing guards inside the building, and followed the two of them.

He kept a steady pace behind the magician's billowing cloak, noting with amusment how the small girl had to take many steps to keep up with the tall man's strides. Every so often, he would see the magician bend down and say something in the girl's ear, while pointing out various buildings or corner shops.

At one point, the magician stopped at a fruit stand. Nadir watched from a safe distance as the man purchased an apple and gave it to the girl, who gave a beautiful wide smile, the kind that showed all of her teeth and made her eyes sparkle. Nadir could not help but smile himself at the sight of that girl's face.

They were coming back in his direction. Now was his chance.

"Excuse me, sir," Nadir said a little loudly, stepping out and placing his hand on the magician's forearm.

The man turned to look at him. The fact that he was wearing the large mask over his face irked Nadir greatly. He always liked to see his subject's entire face.

"Can I help you?" The magician asked, being polite, but his voice was laced with suspicion.

"Yes. Are you aware that you are not allowed to leave palace grounds?" He stared hard at the magician's eyes. The man didn't blink.

"I am fully aware."

"Are you aware of the consequences of breaking this rule?"

"Ten lashings."

Nadir nodded, clasping his hands behind his back. "That is correct. It seems that you are, indeed, fully aware of this rule. May I ask you why you are breaking it, then?"

The magician looked down at the girl standing beside him. She was completely silent, staring very hard at the glossy red apple in her hand. Apparently she was not willing to talk.

"I am showing her around Mazanderan. She has never been in town before."

"What is your position in the palace, girl?" Nadir asked her. She did not reply.

"She is my former servant girl, sir," the magician explained. Nadir raised his eyebrows.

"Unfortunately, sir, she is not allowed to leave the palace grounds either. Shall it be ten lashes for each of you, then?"

To his surprise, the magician smirked.

"If you were to tell Nasser Shah, then yes, I'm afraid we would both be lashed. After all, this girl has only been serving in the palace for nineteen years, and I for two. You must know, sir, how maddening it can become when one stays in the same place for too long. One must breathe the fresh air, congregate with his own kind, and try new things if one is to stay sane. You understand that, don't you, sir?"

"I..."

For once, Nadir was speechless; what the magician said was true. He would often find himself growing more angry and irritable as he spent more time in the palace. Sometimes he wished he could leave the place altogether, but he had not the courage to flee. He knew that if he was caught, he would be subjected to horrible punishment, and all of his efforts would have been a waste of his time.

When Nadir raised his eyes again and opened his mouth to speak, the magician and the girl were gone.

"Forgive me, Allah," he sighed, and wandered off down the road.

The magician and the servant girl would not be lashed tonight.


	6. Chapter 6: Guilt

Erik sat back in his chair, raising his pipe to his lips with a slightly trembling hand. He smoked the hashish slowly and deeply, closing his eyes in an attempt to calm his nerves. It was just another performance. A performance. _A performance._

He heard the door to his room open and turned his head to look at the visitor. Aisha.

His former servant girl smiled when she saw him and approached him with her hands behind her back. "Good afternoon, Sayyed," she said pleasantly, still unable to break the habit of addressing him with the title of master. Erik never bothered to correct her; he found it rather endearing.

"Good afternoon, Aisha," he said, taking another pull on his pipe. Aisha's smile faltered a little.

"Hashish, Sayyed?"

Erik nodded, exhaling smoke from his nostrils. "I have a performance in an hour and a half."

Aisha sat down across from him on his footstool, now looking concerned. "Why must you take hashish? You told me you liked to go out into the rose gardens before you perform."

Erik averted his eyes from her curious gaze, and his hand holding the pipe twitched a little. "It's two young brothers accused of robbery. They're scheduled to be executed."

Aisha's face paled and she gasped softly. "Whoever did they rob?"

"Nasser Shah himself," Erik replied dully, raising the pipe to his lips and smoking with a strange sort of urgency. "They tried to take some of his personal belongings, intending to sell them in town. Oh, for God's sake, Aisha, they're only children. They just wanted to touch the jewelry..."

Aisha watched, paralyzed with dismay, as Erik began to lose control of his emotions. His voice had disappeared and his eyes began to shine with restrained tears. She could see his hands begin to tremble a little more violently. Her heart filled with pity for him. Aisha knelt down before him, taking his left hand and squeezing it gently.

"I am so very sorry that you must do this, Sayyed. I will pray that Allah gives you strength." She rested her head against Erik's hand and shut her eyes, whispering her prayer and willing her compassion to strengthen his heart.

When she looked up at her dear master's face, she was saddened to see two tears slipping down the skull mask he wore, running down his cheeks and trembling under his chin. He pulled hard on the pipe, desperate for the hashish to cast its soothing warm veil over his emotions. If he didn't feel its effects soon, he'd never be able to walk out into the killing ring.

Wiping his eyes, Erik set the pipe down and stood up, looking down at Aisha from where she still knelt.

"I will return shortly," he rasped in a stiff voice, and slowly walked out of his room.

--------------------------

Aisha stayed in Erik's room for the entire length of time he was gone. Her eyes were fixed on his pipe still sitting on the table, and she watched the smooth gray wisps of smoke eventually disappear as the pipe went out.

The door to the balcony was open. She could hear the sounds from the execution, despite the fact that the killing ring was quite a distance from Erik's room. It was apparent that the Shah had invited a crowd to watch the boys die; every so often she would hear the roar of the audience as something exciting occurred in the field. What were they cheering for? Had Erik killed one of the boys? Was he taking his time with them, drawing out their death in order to please the Shah?

A child's scream rent the air. Aisha's blood ran cold. Did the boy see death coming at him in the form of a white skull? Was the Punjab lasso tightening around his neck right this moment, choking the life out of the child who would never see his father, his mother, his sisters and brothers again...

And Erik. How did he manage to do these horrific deeds day after day and still keep his sanity? He said he'd been here for two years. How many people had he killed over that period of time? Dozens? Hundreds? It was so cruel of the Shah to force Erik, a gentle and soft-spoken person, to kill condemned prisoners. Aisha feared that if he did not stop executing prisoners soon, he would turn into a cold, hard and silent individual.

She wanted to save him from that.

Aisha had grown increasingly fond of Erik as time went on...perhaps too fond to be appropriate. More and more often she found herself casting side glances at her Sayyed, admiring the way he stood, the way he walked, the gentle smiles he gave her and his soft gaze. When he took her on that tour through Manzanderan, she took pleasure in listening to his deep, musical voice as he pointed out different buildings and people. She had continually fought back the urge to hold his hand so she could feel closer to him. She delighted in the fact that he was protective of her; when they encountered the Chief of Police in Mazanderan he prevented the two of them from being lashed. She had been silent during that encounter, but her heart had been swollen with admiration for Erik.

Soft pink and orange rays of light began to glow through the curtains and cast long shadows against the opposite wall. The sun was setting, which meant that the execution should be over...and by the final, swelling cheers that Aisha heard outside, it seemed to confirm her thoughts. Now she had to wait for Erik to return. She feared what sort of state he'd be in when he walked through the door.

About fifteen minutes after the execution was over, Aisha heard the door open and stood up slowly to greet Erik. She saw his hunched figure slip through the door and shuffle inside, head lowered. He took off his long cloak and let it drop on the floor.

"Sayyed?" she tried quietly.

Erik didn't respond. He sat on the edge of his bed, facing the wall, his shoulders and the small of his back still glistening with patches of sweat. Aisha approached his side, biting her lip and nervously pulling at her fingers. "Are you all right?"

He finally lifted his head to look at her. His mask was covered in dirt and, to her horror, small droplets of blood. The look in his eyes sent a knife through Aisha's heart; they were bloodshot and filled with tears that quivered and spilled slowly down his face. Gone was the cool, unshakable man that she was so used to seeing. He was broken, racked with grief and pain, seeking comfort.

Aisha sat down beside him and gently took his hot, dirty hand and enclosed it in both of hers. "It's not your fault, Sayyed. You have been forced to do this."

Erik shuddered and tried to breathe evenly. He was exhausted. "If you saw the looks on their faces...they were so frightened, they tried to run," he whispered, his watery eyes growing wide with horror. "And...I had to kill them..."

He collapsed, physically and emotionally, slumping against her and tentatively wrapping an arm around her shoulders. He pressed his face into her shoulder and heaved sobs into her work dress. Aisha hushed him gently, pressing a hand to the side of his mask and laying her head on his hair.

"You have done no wrong by your own choice," she told him softly. "The Shah ordered you to kill them. You are as much his prisoner as I am. Allah will forgive you, Sayyed."

She stayed there with Erik, cradling his head and patting his back, until he lay back down on his bed and fell asleep. Aisha could not help but give her beloved Sayyed a kiss on the forehead before she left his room.


	7. Chapter 7: Affection

_If Sabah sees this, she'll have both their heads, _Nadir thought as he leaned out his window, watching the magician sitting in the rose gardens with the little servant girl. The magician knew how much Sabah wanted him, and the Shah had even spoken to him about it, but it was as if the magician were deaf; he continued this close friendship with the servant girl in private.

They were obviously very happy together in each other's presence. The magician was sitting up against one of the Shah's prized apple trees, his legs crossed and his arms folded back behind his head. The servant girl, shy and grinning, was sitting on her knees beside him with her back to Nadir. He could not hear their conversation from where he stood two stories up above them.

And yet…dangerous as their relationship was, it warmed Nadir's heart to watch them. The girl sometimes reached out and touched the magician's head fondly, as if she were giving him a blessing, and he could hear her soft laugh. The magician, on the other hand, seemed quite shy around her as well, casting her awkward grins and twiddling his thumbs behind his head. In a way, the two of them reminded Nadir of himself, as a younger man, and his relationship with his beloved, Laleh.

Laleh had been a young harem girl, only sixteen, and he twenty-two at the time. She was like a beautiful desert rose to him, with her glossy black hair and her emerald eyes. She had been such a gentle girl, too; even her voice was soft, like silk, and her hands when they touched his face…oh, how he had loved that.

Nadir sighed and slowly walked to his bed, lying down on the cool linens. He had been such a stupid boy back then. Stupid enough to sleep with Laleh and father her child! He knew that harem girls were forbidden to sleep with anyone other than the Shah, but he hadn't been able to help himself that night.

Sure enough, the Shah had soon noticed Laleh's swelling stomach and immediately inquired as to the father. Laleh had refused to tell him, and for her silence she was thrown into the prisons, into a restricted area where Nadir was not allowed to go, as he had only been a lowly palace guard at the time…but oh, the nightmares he had about her. What did they do to her down there? Did they use her and abuse her body like monsters, or, if God was merciful, did they spare her and simply leave her to die a peaceful, quiet death? He never knew. Only when a fellow guard told him of Laleh's death did he know he would never have the chance to see her again. It was his fault he had lost her and his unborn son or daughter.

Though Nadir told himself that he shouldn't meddle in the affair between the magician and the servant girl, he could not help but worry for them. If Sabah or Nasser was to discover that they were seeing each other, he'd throw them both into the dungeons and Allah knew what would happen to them then. In a way, Nadir could relate to the magician. He was forbidden from seeing another woman, but love was so strong in his heart he could not resist, even if the consequences for the secret relationship were death, or worse…the Shah had horrible ways of driving men insane down in the prisons.

Nadir opened his eyes into his pillow when he heard a strange, haunting melody coming through his open window. He approached the window sill silently and peeked out to find the source of the sound. What he saw below him was the servant girl lying down next to the magician, with her head near his chest and her legs curled up beneath her.

The magician was singing.

Nadir recognized the song immediately; it was a simple tune in Persian, usually sung by the harem girls in the palace as they danced or lay in the sun, grooming each other's hair.

_Laleh sang that song…_

The magician's voice was strangely haunting, ethereal, like the long moans Nadir often heard seeping up from deep beneath the palace, in the dungeons…a chant of the dying. The chant that his Laleh sang as she lay there in the prisons, chained and starving, holding her heavily pregnant belly, praying to Allah that she was not bearing a dead child…Nadir could see tears streaking her dirty, bruised and battered face; he could see her beautiful green eyes fluttering closed as soul left her body…

Overwhelmed with the voice and the horrible visions of his love, Nadir dropped to his knees at the window, his body shaking uncontrollably with sharp gasps and his face contorting as tears squeezed out from his eyes. What a bastard he had been. The guards hadn't been the ones who had taken Laleh away: Nadir had been the one who had bound her hands with rope, dragged her down into the dungeons and locked the manacles and the leg irons around her thin, fragile wrists and ankles.

He had been the one who killed her.

Nadir struggled for breath, raising his head and staring down out the window through blurred vision. The magician had stopped singing. He could just barely make out the man's hand traveling to the servant girl's head, stroking her beautiful hair. He was so happy with her.

It wasn't fair.

Rubbing his face hard with the back of his hand, Nadir gathered himself, stood up, and took a deep breath. He strode stiffly out of his room, his scabbard knocking gently against his thighs as he headed for the rose gardens.

By the time Nadir went through the wrought iron gate and located the right apple tree, it seemed that the servant girl was going back to her chores. They were both standing up now, facing each other, and the girl was patting the magician's chest gently. Nadir saw him grin broadly as the girl left, walking in his direction. She lifted her eyes and seemed a little startled to see him, dropping quickly into a polite curtsy.

"Good morning, daroga."

"Good morning."

He smiled at her a little, and she disappeared back into the palace. He turned back around. The magician was looking at him.

"Good morning," Nadir called out to him. He heard a soft grunt in reply.

Nadir decided to try and be friendly. He approached the magician a little cautiously, unsure of what the man's reaction would be to the Chief of Police coming up to him. Their last encounter had been rather cold.

"It's quite a beautiful day today, wouldn't you say so?" Nadir commented when he was within a proper speaking distance of the man. The magician nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on Nadir. He was still wearing that bizarre mask on his face.

Nadir gave him an awkward polite smile. "I'm sorry, I never caught your name during our last conversation."

"Erik Ibrahim," said the magician. He was obviously not ready to be friendly with Nadir just yet. He looked like a stone statue standing there, glaring at him with his icy stare.

"Nadir Khan, Chief of Police," Nadir introduced himself, smiling again. The man called Erik finally smiled, but it was a chilling smile, sarcastic and cold.

"Pleased to meet you."

Erik started to walk away from Nadir, apparently not interested in a lengthy conversation. Nadir, however, was oddly intent on speaking to this strange man. It was silly, but…he couldn't shake off the need to talk to the magician. He didn't want the young man to end up down in the prisons for having a relationship with that girl.

"If you don't mind my asking, sir, who was that sweet little girl you were with?"

The magician stiffened visibly, drawing up his shoulders and giving a hard sigh. "Why do you want to know, daroga?"

Nadir licked his lips, keeping pace with the man's steps. "Do you know what would happen if Sabah happened to see you with her?"

To his surprise, Erik laughed. The sharp, grating sound sent icy shivers up Nadir's spine.

"I am aware of the risks, yes. The Shah has already threatened to roast me over a spit."

Nadir swallowed; he knew that Nasser wasn't fibbing. If he was angry enough, he would do it.

"Are you at all concerned for your safety and that of the girl's? I have no doubts that the Shah will take drastic action if you are seen with her."

"I am careful, daroga," Erik assured him, stopping beside a large cluster of pink roses and reaching out to stroke the velvet petals. "We are well hidden. I will not pretend to like Sabah to please her and Nasser. I enjoy Aisha's company."

Aisha. That was her name.

Brushing a hand over his face, Nadir sighed and sat down on a nearby bench. He ran his palm over the cool stone. ""Sir, you will regret the consequences if you two are found out."

Erik scoffed, turning to look at him. "Who are you to tell me these things? My relations with this girl are none of your concern. Would you mind explaining why you are so interested in my business?"

"Because I've experienced those consequences myself," Nadir said sharply, standing up to face the magician. "I thought you would appreciate my advice, but I see you would rather have both your heads cut off." Nadir turned away from him and started to walk off, back in the direction of the palace doors, but he felt a firm hand on his shoulder.

"What do you mean, you've experienced those consequences?" The man was truly serious now. Apparently, something Nadir had said had piqued his interest.

"My lover was jailed and killed for having a relationship with me," he told him coldly, shrugging off his hand. "It was my fault she died. I knew I was forbidden from seeing her." He turned around, folding his arms across his chest and looking the magician up and down.

"The same will happen to you and the girl if Sabah learns of your interaction with the servant girl."

Nadir's words were finally having an effect on the magician. Erik dropped his eyes from Nadir's face, clearly torn as to what to do in this situation.

"Then…I cannot see her?"

"Not if you want to save both your lives."

Nadir knew how the man must feel, unable to see the girl he was so fond of. It would be painful for him, but it was necessary if he wanted to live.

"I'm sorry," Nadir offered quietly.

He left the magician in the gardens. The man needed some time to prepare himself to end his relationship with Aisha.

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Aisha tried to hold the pencil steady as she struggled to create the long, flowing curve of a cobra's body on her paper. It was much more difficult than she had thought. Instead of a smooth line, her snake's body started to tremble and quiver, and as a result the creature started to look a little lumpy.

"Whatever are you doing, Aisha?" Jaleh laughed as she approached her friend's bed. Aisha quickly flipped the scrap of paper over and pretended to be writing as Jaleh sat down beside her.

"I'm…writing a note," she tried.

"To whom? Let me see." Jaleh took the paper from her and laughed. "Silly, there's nothing written on this paper…oh, what's this?" She had flipped the scrap over and noticed the rough, unimpressive sketch of the cobra. "I thought you hated snakes, Aisha."

"I'm not very fond of them," Aisha admitted, taking the piece of paper back and slipping it under her blanket. "I just wanted to pass the time."

"Aisha," Jaleh said, scooting a little closer to her on the bed, "why have you been acting so strangely over the past week? You haven't spoken to me other the other girls very much at all, and you've had this funny little smile on your face for most of the day. What have you been doing?"

"I haven't been doing anything," Aisha replied quietly, rubbing her index finger.

"Oh, yes, you have," Jaleh countered. "Do you remember the day you spent ten minutes fixing your hair in the mirror? I've never seen you spend so much time putting your hair up!" Jaleh laughed as Aisha fought to hold back a smile.

"Aisha, you can tell me. Have you found someone you like?"

"I…I suppose so," Aisha stuttered, her face growing warm.

"Who is it? Is it one of the guards?"

"No."

"Is it one of Nasser Shah's dancers?"

"No."

Jaleh was growing impatient. "Well, who is it then?"

Aisha took a deep breath. "The magician."

Her friend stared at her for only a moment before she stifled a laugh with her hand. Aisha's cheeks burned a fiery red.

"Oh, Aisha. The magician? The one you served for a week? Come now, dear, you know you can't have him. Sabah is obsessed with him."

Aisha shook her head. "I think he likes me too, Jaleh."

Jaleh stopped laughing. "What makes you think that?"

"I don't know. He is so kind to me, so very gentle. He likes to take me out into the rose gardens with him when the day is hot, or if he is preparing for an execution. It is so sad, Jaleh, when he must kill the Shah's prisoners. The pain I see in his eyes hurts me so badly."

Jaleh had stopped laughing and remained very silent and solemn as she listened to her friend. Aisha wasn't joking; she really did have feelings for the magician. She had never expressed affection for any man until now, and Jaleh couldn't help but feel proud of her for finally sharing her deepest secret with her.

"And you like him, Aisha?"

"Very much."

Jaleh began to smile. "Those rolls you made in the kitchen today…"

"I made them for him, yes. I'm trying to draw this cobra for him, too. He is very fond of snakes." She smiled and took out the scrap of paper again, glancing over it and giving a small giggle. "It looks terrible."

Jaleh took another look at it. "I think it looks quite good," she told her, tilting her head a little. "It's better than I could ever do. When are you going to give this to him?"

"Tonight," Aisha replied.

Jaleh began to grin in an almost mischievous way. "I've an idea, Aisha. Let me help you clean up and dress, and I'll promise you that the magician will think you are a sultana."

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_I have no doubts that the Shah will take drastic action if you are seen with her._

Frustrated beyond belief, Erik sat down on his bed, cradling his head in his hands. This was going to be harder than he had expected.

Why was it so hard? Was it because he felt sorry for the girl?...Or was it something different? Granted, he enjoyed Aisha's company very much, but he found himself thinking more often about her each day. Where was she? What was she doing? Was she being treated fairly? When would she visit him?

Erik had felt vain desire for women before. After all, what man wouldn't feel lust, watching the Shah's harem dance while wearing the most daring of costumes? Yes, Erik had felt lust before, but so had many other men. Men with handsome faces that the harem girls liked to look at.

Aisha was different. She was not a harem girl, decorated with jewels and a painted face, but Erik liked her very, very much. She talked to him. She laughed with him. She touched his hand and his head and smiled at him. She was not one of the Shah's desert roses, but she was beautiful nonetheless. Erik found that he was quite fond of the smooth, clean simplicity of her face and the way her uncontrollable hair stood up on her scalp. She was a good, pretty girl.

And yet, Erik was extremely angry and embarrassed with himself for feeling like this towards her. He knew women only wanted handsome, confident men, not a coward who covered his face with a large piece of painted leather. Aisha had not asked about his mask, but Erik had a feeling that sooner or later she would start to become curious about it. He'd have to nail that mask to his face if he wanted her to stay with him.

His heart rose and then sank horribly as he heard a knock at the door. He knew who it was. When he got off the bed, breathed and opened the door, he saw Aisha standing there in a blue sari and her hair bound in a knot behind her head. She was holding her hands behind her back and stepped back a little from him, reluctant to look him in the face.

"Good afternoon, Sayyed," she greeted him softly.

Erik was speechless. He'd never seen her look so beautiful before, in that silk sari with her dark, usually wild hair done up so perfectly. She looked so delicate and small, like a china doll just standing there, waiting to be picked up by someone who loved her.

"Aisha…g-good afternoon."

She stepped into his room quietly and brought her hands out from behind her. She was holding a covered basket. "This is for you."

Erik took it carefully and lifted the dishrag. Nestled in the basket was a batch of warm, golden rolls that smelled as if they had just come out of the oven a few minutes ago.

"I put them on the stove so they would be hot, Sayyed," she told him, blushing and glancing down at his feet. Her heart was thumping wildly in her breast.

"They look delicious," he said, smiling as he covered them back up. "Would you like to share them with me?"

"Yes…of course, Sayyed." She smiled awkwardly again and wandered over to the balcony door. Erik followed her, setting the basket down on his chair and standing beside her.

"I…I have something for you," she stuttered. She reached out her hand and gave him a small scrap of paper. Erik flipped it over and squinted a little. On the paper was the small, wobbly sketch of a cobra with its hood flared. Erik grinned.

"Did you do this?" he asked, looking back up at her.

"Yes, Sayyed. It's Ensi. I'm sorry it's not very good—"

"No, no. It's very good. I like it."

Aisha giggled. "Thank you."

She turned back to the window, staring out at the rose garden below, but her eyes and her mind were filled with love for Erik. He liked her rolls and he thought her sketch was very good. He didn't know how much those compliments had meant to her.

"Aisha."

"Yes, Sayyed?" She didn't turn her head, for fear he would see her blushing.

"I…I'm afraid…"

Erik swallowed. He was going to kill her.

"I'm afraid I can't see you any longer."

Aisha blinked, but still she stared out the window. Her smile began to fade. "Why?"

"If Sabah sees us together, she will kill us both."

Aisha finally turned her head to look at him. "You're worried about Sabah?"

"Yes. I don't want you to get hurt."

"Why not?"

_What sort of question was that? _Erik thought. "Because…I care for you."

"You care for me?" Aisha sounded mildly surprised.

"Yes, very much."

She smiled and turned to face him, coming close to him, much too close.

"I care for you very much, too, Sayyed."

Erik attempted to give a weak smile. "I…I'm glad of that," he said stupidly.

Aisha placed her hand on his shoulder. "Erik," she started, causing Erik's heart to skip. She had never addressed him by his first name.

That was as far as she got.

The servant girl stood up on her toes, pressing her left hand to his other shoulder, and brought her face dangerously close to his. She opened her mouth as if she was going to say something else, but her voice wouldn't come, it was lodged somewhere in her throat. Her eyes slipped shut and she lifted her chin.

Her lips touched Erik's mouth. A shiver of pleasure coursed through her veins, setting her brain on fire and causing the blood to rush to her cheeks. His lips were slightly cool and dry to the touch, just barely parted, encouraging her to press her mouth a little more firmly against them. Her tongue gently nudged his teeth.

Aisha dropped her head from his lips and laid her head against his heart. She could hear him breathing deeply and unevenly in his chest. What had come over her? Just a few minutes ago she had been that shy, blushing girl who could barely speak properly to him, and now…now she was bold, firm, desperate to show him how she felt about him. It didn't matter to her if Sabah had her thrown into prison and killed her; she had kissed Erik, and he now knew that she loved him.

"Aisha…"

"Erik."

And so the two of them stood there in front of the balcony, pressed together and breathing softly together, both of them completely stunned at what had just occurred.

Someone else was stunned, as well…the Princess Sabah, sitting in the rose gardens below, staring up at the magician and his lover in the balcony doorway.


	8. Chapter 8: Accusation

**Dear readers, thank you so much for reading and reviewing. I enjoy your comments, suggestions and constructive criticism and they help inspire me to keep writing this story. Thank you once more and I hope you enjoy this next chapter. :)**

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Sabah raised her heavily ringed hand and rapped delicately on the magician's door. She stroked her long, silky black hair slung over her shoulder and glanced down satisfactorily at her scarlet wrap hugging her slender figure. Her pale face was painted with the most seductive shades of red, black and white, making her look like a regal Persian queen. If the magician did not fall for her this final time, he would live…or die, rather…to regret it.

The door opened and there stood the magician, looking very irritated to see her indeed. He was wearing a long black robe and had removed the serpent medallion and the other jewelry he usually wore in her presence; apparently she had caught him while he was relaxing.

"Yes?" he greeted her coldly.

Sabah smiled innocently, fluttering her eyelashes. "Good evening, magician. The Shah has invited me once again to your quarters. Would you be so kind as to let me in?"

"I have company," Erik replied stonily, making a vague motion towards the other side of the room. Sabah craned her neck around the doorway and forced a painful smile when she saw Aisha sitting on the floor with a half-full basket of rolls beside her.

"Ah…your servant girl. I thought she was no longer in your service."

"That is correct. She is merely delivering me a basket of bread from the kitchens as a gift, as is the tradition here in the palace."

Sabah's lips squeezed together into a pout. "Oh…I'm terribly sorry for interrupting you, magician," she said. "Perhaps I will come back another time?"

"Yes. Just go." Erik closed the door.

The princess's blood boiled.

Sabah stalked back to her quarters, a newfound hatred raging in her heart. She had tried to be gentle, and she had tried to be kind, but the magician did not appreciate her generosity in the least. All of the men Sabah had seduced in the past had taken her without question; why was this fool rejecting her day after day?

_He will pay.  
_

Once Sabah returned to her luxurious apartment, she haughtily tossed the scarlet wrap onto her bed and seized a pair of fine silver scissors from her washroom. She proceeded to cut the wrap into shreds at the chest, shoulder and hem, making sure to tug on the edges to fray them.

Sabah went into her washroom and splashed water all over her heavily painted face, streaking the vibrant colors down her cheeks. She glanced up into the mirror and grinned at the horrid wet face staring back at her. The black paint round her eyes was streaming down her face, all the way to her chin, and the red bowed down from the corners of her lips. She looked like a very pathetic clown.

The princess continued to destroy her pristine appearance in the washroom, mussing and twisting her hair until it was frizzed and stood up from her head like the fur of a cat. She even went so far as to scratch at the insides of her thighs and at her breasts with her nails, creating long red marks that would be sure to horrify the Shah.

Now completely ruined, Sabah rushed into her bedroom and slipped on the slashed wrap, removed her shoes and crept out of her apartment, glancing down the halls to ensure no one saw her. She hurried silently down the right hall, towards the Shah's room, all the while rubbing her eyes and jabbing at her eyeballs to make them water and turn red. She had to look convincing for Nasser.

"Help me! Oh, Allah, help me!" Sabah howled as she neared the Shah's door. She knocked rapidly and jiggled the knob wildly. "Oh, please, open the door, my Shah, please…"

A guard immediately opened the door and Sabah fell into his arms. "Get me away from him, he'll kill me!" she shrieked at him, sobbing loudly and attempting to hold up her destroyed clothes. "Take me to Nasser…please…"

The stunned guard carried the princess to Nasser's elaborately furnished bedchamber. The Shah sat up immediately on his enormous mattress, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open. "My dear! Oh, God, what's happened to you?"

The guard set Sabah down on the floor beside his bed, where she struggled to her knees and laid her paint-streaked face on his sheets, gasping for breath. Nasser touched her ruined silk wrap and saw that her breast was exposed, red scratches raked across the soft flesh. His breath caught in his throat.

"The…m-magician," Sabah whispered.

"The magician!" Nasser shouted, throwing his arms up in the air. "He did this to you!"

She nodded weakly. "My lord, I came to his room, as you instructed, and told him you invited me there…but all of a sudden, m-my lord, he…he pulled me into the room, shouting at me, screaming and striking me on the head! Oh…he was so angry with me, he said he'd t-teach me to barge into his room again…he pushed me onto the floor, and…and he f-forced me to submit to his will…oh, my lord, the pain…and his servant girl stood there, laughing at me as that demon was attacking me…she made no move to help me. Oh, my lord, my lord!"

Sabah collapsed into a violent barrage of sobs, and Nasser's face shifted from a sickly shade of gray to a vibrant red.

"Arrest that magician immediately!" the Shah screamed to his dumbfounded guards.

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After Erik had shut the door on Sabah, he came back down to sit beside Aisha, giving a slight shrug. "You'll have to forgive me. I didn't know she was coming."

Aisha smiled, slowly tearing apart her roll and squishing the soft bread. "It's all right. She can be quite rude sometimes." She giggled and quickly slipped the crushed bread into her mouth. She was being so silly in front of him tonight. All she did was give him a kiss, and now she was acting like a harem girl who had had too much wine: laughing, hiccoughing and blushing. She had to wonder if Erik was blushing too, behind that mask.

They had both completely abandoned all concern over Sabah seeing them together. They could make up a hundred excuses before she realized what they were really up to. There was no reason to be worried. Why, she'd just come in a few minutes ago and believed that Aisha was delivering a basket of bread, according to a "tradition" that did not really exist.

"Thank you for the rolls," Erik said, picking another up and opening it up to reveal the soft white dough. "You are a very talented cook."

Aisha grinned again. "You're very welcome. I can always make more food if you like. I can bring it to your room and we can eat it together."

Erik grinned and leaned back against his bed, resting his hands in his lap. "That would be quite delightful," he commented sleepily, his eyelids fluttering. He was growing tired.

Scooting her body up closer to him, Aisha reached her arm around his shoulders and pressed her face into his neck gently. She could smell his hair and his skin, combined with the faint leathery fragrance from the mask. She nudged the outer shell of his ear with her nose.

"You smell very nice," she murmured, struggling to hold back a giggle. She felt drunk.

"So you do," he replied, and Aisha had to laugh. When he talked, she felt his jawbone move against her lips. She leaned back and quickly pressed a hand over her mouth to stifle her uncontrollable giggling. Surely they would hear her down the halls if she did not keep quiet.

"I'm glad we could spend this hour together," Aisha sighed, finally sitting back against the bed. She closed her eyes as well, content to just listen to Erik breathe. It was rather amazing how much pleasure one could take from just listening to the sound of a fellow human inhaling and exhaling. She loved knowing Erik was alive and well beside her.

Aisha had never been very close to any man before. The guards did not spend much time around the servants in the kitchen and did not enter the servant's quarters, and the female servants lived separately from the male servants. Of course, she had spoken to some men before, but she had never really gotten to know one before and become a friend with him.

Erik was the first man to actually express the desire to spend time with her, take her with him into the gardens and sit quietly with her, laughing and touching each other's hands and heads fondly. It was a new experience, one that Aisha was thoroughly enjoying.

"Sayyed…Erik," Aisha corrected herself quickly, catching Erik's small grin out of the corner of her eye, "I'm sorry to spoil the evening, but I'm afraid I must get back to the kitchens. The other girls will be missing me."

Erik sighed, and Aisha couldn't help but be delighted at the look of disappointment in his eyes. He wanted her to stay.

"If you must. I wouldn't want you to get into trouble if you are found," he said, standing up slowly and stretching his long arms towards the ceiling. "Perhaps we can take lunch together tomorrow."

Aisha scooped up the empty basket and placed her hand gently on Erik's shoulder, looking him in the eyes for a moment before she cast a brief glance over his masked face. Despite the beauty of the masks he always wore, Aisha wished so badly that she could see her dear Sayyed's face. Perhaps, when they grew closer together, he would permit her to see it, but for now, she was content with stroking the delicately painted leather and tracing the long-stemmed roses that arched over his brow.

"Good night, Erik." She stood up on her toes to give him a kiss.

The gentleness of the moment was shattered when Erik's door flew open, banging back against the wall and almost striking the enormous armored guard filling the doorway. Aisha uttered a small squeak at the same moment Erik twisted around to face the intruder. His mouth opened but he didn't speak, and his eyes darted to the Punjab lasso sitting on the dresser.

Like a striking snake, Erik's arm snapped out and reached for the black cord, but the gigantic soldier was too quick for him. He seized Erik and threw him to the floor with startling force; Aisha heard his head thump hard against the carpet.

Another soldier grabbed Aisha's upper arms, dragging her past Erik, who was being bound on the floor now, and he pressed her body firmly into the carpet. She only gave a small, soft cry when her arms were pulled painfully behind her back and her wrists were tied. Her mind was so numb with terror she did not even attempt to struggle, and it was only when she felt the carpet becoming wet that she realized she was crying.

Her heart filled with horror when the man grabbed her by the hair and dragged her out of Erik's apartment, into the hall, and let her drop on the cold floor. She twisted her head to the side and, amidst the dozens of pairs of men's feet, she saw Erik's prone form lying five feet away from her. He wasn't moving, and his head was turned in the opposite direction.

"Erik?" she whispered, her voice laced with a heavy tremor.

"Erik Ibrahim, you're being arrested for the rape of the princess Sabah, and you, girl, are accused of being an accomplice in the crime."

Aisha turned her head upwards as best she could, and found herself staring into the cold, hard face of Nadir Khan.


	9. Chapter 9: Daroga: Part One

**Please note this chapter contains some strong violence.**

**DAROGA: THE PERSIAN'S NARRATIVE**

Part One

Sometimes I find myself sitting at my desk in silence, pen balanced in my fingers over paper, chin in my hand, and I have to wonder; how many years had I been the Shah's Chief of Police? How many times had I made arrests, supervised executions, danced with the women of the palace (drunk out of my mind), and greeted Nasser's guests?

Only when I cannot instantly remember things like this do I become extremely uneasy._ Did I skip a year or two…perhaps three or four or more? Did I dream I made that arrest or witnessed that certain execution? Am I really as old as I thought I was?_ It can be quite frightening when one cannot remember these things; it feels as if my life is changing constantly, every day, especially when I suddenly remember certain events, events that happened years ago. Another occasion to add to my journal.

Indeed, I do keep a journal of everything that has happened in my life, at least what I can remember. When you open it and glance at the pages, it looks much more like a shopping list rather than a journal:

_Execution of Adar Kiyanfar – 1850_

_Execution of Cook - ?_

_Member of harem gives birth to the Shah's child - 1846_

I simply mark down the memories with a word or a short sentence, and if I can recall the year, I put it down. I don't bother sitting for hours at a time in candlelight, pouring details of the occasion into the journal; just a brief summary of the event is all I desire.

Some might think me odd, or obsessive, for making such a journal, and I may be (the Persian heat may have addled my brains just slightly), but despite the disturbing or uninteresting things that have happened in my life, I find comfort knowing that they did indeed happen, that I did not dream them, and I have them right here in this little leather journal. Without it, I fear I would lose myself in a torrent of uncertain memories.

Though my life, at a glance, may seem repetitive or even dull, there have been bright moments here and there. Laleh was one of those very bright moments, so bright that, unfortunately, she blinded me. I have never written her name down in my journal, because I know that she is one person that will never leave my mind, no matter how hard I try to forget her.

She was a young girl, only sixteen at the time that I met her. I had had feelings for her for some time; I believe they developed when I watched her dance for the Shah with the rest of the harem. She was just a little thing, but so beautiful, like a rose swaying in a gentle breeze. Her long, groomed hair floated and fanned out behind her, and I longed to touch it with my own hands, to feel its softness and run my fingers through her black tresses.

I pined after that girl for days and suffered from sweaty palms and a speeding heart when I caught glances of her with the harem, laughing and smiling, stroking her hair with her little hands. Only when I "accidentally" bumped into her in the halls did I finally see her up close.

Allah! She had the largest green eyes I had ever seen in my life, with the most beautiful lashes and the most perfect brows. My arms ached to take her and press her against my chest, but alas, I was forbidden from seeing harem girls. They were only allowed to be with the Shah, and if I were caught with Laleh, I would most certainly be killed.

However, I was just a young man at that time, and therefore I was very stupid. My love for Laleh was too powerful for me to handle, and I took her to my bed one night. She was so small and delicate in my arms, and I felt that I was protecting her from any harm. I felt that we were safe.

I was wrong. When the Shah saw Laleh's swollen belly, he became enraged; he had not slept with Laleh for months. He demanded to know the identity of the father, but Laleh, whose heart was far too good, did not give him my name.

She paid for her silence dearly. The Shah had her arrested and thrown into the dungeons deep beneath the palace. I will never know how they tortured her down there, as I could not distinguish her cries amid the other screams I heard, but it sickens me to think of her chained and dying in her cell, beaten by the guards, kicked in her uterus where the innocent child was growing.

All as a result of my damned foolishness.

After I had learned of her death from a fellow guard, I began the process of emotional decay. I became cold, silent, hard. Where I may have shown mercy in the past, I became unforgiving and accusing. I was a changed man.

For five years I was this statue devoid of emotion, sitting in my room night after night smoking hashish and drinking to make the pain go away. I never sought to help soothe my sadness in other ways; I simply accepted my anguish as it was and sat there, wasting away like a piece of rotten meat. During this time, I was also given the title of daroga, as the Shah appreciated my coldness and lack of mercy. In a way, I was a mirror image of himself, and he liked that.

One particularly hot day, the Shah had a strange visitor: a tall, scrawny man--dressed in dirty, oversized clothing--who performed astonishing magic tricks. I remember watching the man audition for the Shah. I actually smiled when he pulled out a white dove from underneath a small red kerchief and let it flutter around his head on a short lead. The harem girls squealed with delight and applauded the strange man, and the Shah was grinning. He immediately accepted the lowly street magician into the royal staff and ordered his servants to take the man, bathe him and give him fresh new clothing. When the magician turned around towards me, I caught a glimpse of his face. It was covered in white bandages.

Two more years passed by very quickly. According to the Shah, I was one of the finest police chiefs he had seen in a long time, and my popularity among the Royal Guard flourished. I was somewhat pleased with the attention, but I was not happy with my hard heart.

Meanwhile, the new magician had become extremely celebrated in the palace. He performed almost daily for the Shah, and put on elaborate shows when there were guests, such as setting himself on fire and walking about as if he were simply strolling in the gardens. I even saw him offer his burning arm to one of the Shah's female visitors, who fainted straight away and fell to the floor with a great thump; however, when she was revived, she burst into applause for the magician and told him she would be delighted to take his arm any time, so long as it wasn't raging with bright orange flames. The entire dinner table burst into laughter.

After watching some of the magician's performances, however, I noticed that he rarely smiled, even when his audience laughed and cheered him on. It was difficult to see any emotion on his face, anyway, seeing as it was constantly covered in finely decorated masks. I thought it was some sort of strange obsession of his: perhaps he collected masks for his own pleasure. However, when he would not take it off even at the request of the Shah, I could not help but wonder if he was just simply mad.

The magician was a rather intimidating specter, especially when I occasionally passed him in the halls. He towered over most of the guards like a giant, but he was thin as a rail. I overheard some jokes from the soldiers, poking fun at his gangly frame and suggesting that if you tapped him a little too hard, he would shatter like glass.

I rarely heard the magician speak, except in greeting to the Shah and his guests. His voice was incredibly soft, almost inaudible, but it was very gentle, starkly contrasting his cold and emotionless appearance. I began to realize that he was very much like me.

Then, one day, I saw him in the gardens with a girl.

I was standing at my window, looking down into the Shah's prized rose garden, and there they were, sitting under an apple tree, speaking in tones I could barely hear. I recognized the girl as the servant girl I had seen him walking with in town, and I watched as she lay down beside him, closing her eyes contentedly like a sleepy cat.

I could hear the magician singing. For some strange reason, his voice brought me to my knees at the window sill, and it was only when I began to cry that I realized that Laleh used to sing that song with the other harem girls as they combed each other's hair or bathed in their pool.

I immediately saw myself and Laleh in the odd couple and my heart melted. They were forbidden from seeing each other (Sabah had already claimed the magician for herself), but still they talked to each other, touched each other, and smiled at each other.

I knew they were doomed.

In spite of my feeble attempt to warn the magician, who I learned was named Erik, I decided to leave them to their own devices. The man seemed smart enough to avoid trouble, so I pushed my worries aside.

One horrible night I woke up in my darkened room to hear screaming in the halls. My heart leapt into my throat and I jumped out of bed, throwing on my uniform and struggling to fasten my sword as I stumbled out of my room. I was headed for the Shah's room when I saw a guard come around the corner, walking very briskly in my direction.

"Daroga, daroga!" he cried out.

"Yes, what is it? Who screamed?"

"It's Princess Sabah, sir. She's been raped."

I stared at him, feeling the blood slowly drain from my face. "Who did it? Does she know?"

"She said it was the magician, sir."

At that moment, I lost all my compassion for the magician, and I was determined to punish him for the horrendous crime he had just committed.

I took a dozen of my men to the magician's apartment, my jaw set and my heart pounding with rage as I listened to one of the soldiers tell me what Sabah had said.

"She came to Nasser Shah's room in a torn dress, sir…she was terribly scratched and disheveled, and she told us the magician forced himself on her, while his servant girl laughed and pointed at her from a short distance away."

The thought that this was somewhat out of character for both the magician and the servant girl briefly crossed my mind, but I was so blinded by my anger I couldn't even make myself dwell on the possibility for more than a second. I had the biggest man force open the magician's door and slowly the guards filtered in, immediately taking control of the magician and his servant girl. I had them dragged out, bound, and set at my feet. I nudged the magician's head with the toe of my boot so I could see his masked face. He was breathless, eyes darting back and forth, frightened. Some of my old pleasure returned and my lips twitched in a smile when I saw his fear.

I told him the reason for his arrest, and I informed him that the girl was accused of being an accomplice, though I had no proof at the time. I had them taken to the dungeons.

I followed a short distance behind, to ensure that the prisoners were properly secured in their cells. The girl was crying softly--her tears were falling on the smooth tile floor--and I could see her trembling. I felt a small pitiful tug on my heartstrings for her.

We descended down into the black, clammy dungeons, taking care not to slip on the wet stone steps. One of my men took up a torch from the wall so we could see. I averted my eyes from the barred cell doors, refusing to look at the pale, gaunt faces staring at us from behind them. I did not want to look at their eyes, to see their pain and suffering. I knew my cold, hard façade would crumble if I so much as cast a glance at them.

"Bring the girl over here," I ordered the men, gesturing to an empty cell. One man unlocked the door and dragged her inside. I followed.

"Untie her and chain her. Leave her be and give her regular food and drink. You will not touch her." I cast a steely gaze over my men to make my message clear. Some of the more sadistic prison guards had a tendency to abuse female prisoners, and I would have none of that with this girl.

As for the magician, I would be much harsher with him. Rape was a serious crime and deserved equally serious punishment. I had the men drag him to one of the torture chambers that was not occupied by some wretched soul. For a few tense moments, he finally began to struggle with the men, perhaps just realizing what was in store for him, but the soldiers were far stronger than he was and gained complete control over him very quickly.

I ordered him to be stripped and the soldiers roughly tore off the magician's clothes, throwing them into a pile in the corner. They then dragged his naked form to the center of the room, stood him up and chained his wrists to the ceiling. One man then turned a crank on one wall and the magician was lifted off his feet just slightly, so that most of his weight was supported by his wrists, a painful experience once one had been hanging like that for a few hours.

I walked in front of the magician so I could see his masked face. He was terrified. His eyes were wide and his extended body was trembling, but from fear or cold I could not tell.

"Do you understand the seriousness of your crime, magician?" I shot at him.

"I didn't--"

"Silence," I interrupted him. My anger was so great I could not stand to listen to his ridiculous excuses at the moment. "You will be punished accordingly. The usual sentence is one hundred lashings, a session with the torture master, and, in your case, I will have you executed after you have been punished down here in the dungeons, probably tomorrow afternoon."

I saw his face pale and his voice dropped to a raspy whisper. "I did nothing to harm Sabah!"

I couldn't control myself; I ripped the mask off his face and slapped him. "Shut up, you scum!" I cried, while visions of a sobbing, injured Sabah crossed my mind. My arms were shaking. "You dare to lay your hands on an innocent young woman and violate her in that way! May Allah damn you for the rest of your short existence here, and it is my wish that we inflict as much pain on you as we possibly can--!"

The last word partially caught in my throat with the magician raised his face to stare at me. Even in the dim light of the torture chamber, I could finally see the flesh that had been confined inside the mask.

The face I saw before me was so horribly twisted, distorted and mashed that it did not remotely resemble a human likeness. The flesh was discolored, a deathly white with occasional dark red patches scattered over the cheeks, nose and forehead. His eyes were sunk into deep pits like the eye sockets of a skull, and in that moment when he looked into my own eyes, I was frightened.

"Proceed," I croaked softly, backing away from the man and gesturing to one of the guards. The soldier picked up a short, stiff whip from the corner of the chamber, removed his tunic and began to lash the magician. I tried not to look at his face, but I could not help myself. I watched his teeth clench and his eyes squeeze shut between blows, and only after the fifth strike did he start to cry out. His muscles tensed hard like a taut rope and his hands curled into fists.

When his blood began to spatter on my face, I left the chamber. I could not bear to be in there for another moment and still keep myself under control. When I closed the door to the chamber, I walked several feet, and then broke into a run.

I could still hear him screaming on the stairs…I could hear him in the halls…I could hear him in my room. I heard the sharp snap of the whip as it came down on his back, digging into his flesh…I could still hear it, damn it, damn it!

I buried my face into my pillow, shouting at the top of my voice into the soft down to drown out the magician's screams, which only increased in volume inside my head.

_Oh, Allah, help me!_


	10. Chapter 10: Daroga: Part Two

**Please note this chapter may contain some strong violence.**

**DAROGA: THE PERSIAN'S NARRATIVE**

Part Two

The next morning was very unpleasant for me. When I opened my eyes against the blinding gray light in my window, I happened to glance down and realize that I was still dressed in my uniform, now wrinkled from my fitful sleep, and the creases had created deep red marks in my skin.

I groaned when I sat up. I had apparently slept wrong because my neck was incredibly sore, and I rubbed the muscles gently in an attempt to soothe the pain. I could not expect to deal with the magician's execution today if I was bent over like a sick old man.

I muttered a curse under my breath when I remembered the execution. I had almost forgotten about the magician, locked up in the dungeons, and my stomach plummeted when I wondered how he was faring down there. I had sentenced him to a session with the torture master, Jafar, but I never knew what sort of methods he used on his prisoners. Allah only knew what he would do to the magician.

Though my body had been sucked dry of energy, I forced myself to stand up and prepare myself for the miserable day. I tossed my disheveled clothes in the corner and took out a more comfortable black tunic and trousers to go underneath my police uniform. I smoothed my hair with oil and bound it back behind my head in a glossy tail. I groomed my beard, ensuring it was properly trimmed and that I would not look like a bear when I went down into the prisons.

Once I had cleaned myself up, I took my sword, fastened it around my waist, and headed for the dungeons. It was eerily quite in the mornings, as most punishments took place at night, but it was still ice cold and clammy as ever. I was forced to place my hand against the wall as I walked down the stairs, and I grimaced when I felt the disgusting wetness against the rough stone.

I stopped in my tracks when I heard an angry female voice, followed by a softer, soothing male voice. At first I assumed it was two prisoners arguing, but when the female's voice dissolved into sobs, I recognized it as Sabah's.

"Princess Sabah?" I called out, moving forward in the darkness once again. I turned a corner and saw a small group of people, huddled around a bright bobbing lantern, moving down the hall in the direction of the magician's cell. One of the figures turned.

"Daroga?" came Sabah's distinctive voice. I offered a smile and approached her, her pale face slowly becoming visible to me in the limited light. I knelt before her and took her hand.

"Please allow me to express my deepest sorrows for the crime that was committed against you," I said. She slipped her hand out of mine.

"Thank you, daroga," she said shortly. "Where is the magician being held?"

"Just down this passageway," I told her, passing the group to lead the way. It seemed that her companions were mostly made up of harem girls, but I caught a glimpse of one of my own officers standing near Sabah, with his face hard and expressionless. I could not help but wonder why he was here with the princess, and why he had been speaking to her in such a soft, gentle voice.

I reached the torture chamber door, and, my heart slowly filling with a strange dread, I unlocked it and swung it open.

I first noticed that the magician was no longer hanging from the ceiling, but lying facedown on the floor, his white body glowing against the blackness of the torture chamber walls. I also saw that Jafar had arrived and was standing over his prisoner with a disturbing smirk on his face.

"Ah…daroga. I'm so glad you could stop by." His voice was like a snake's hiss and sent chills down my spine. I had never liked Jafar in all the time I had been here at the palace; he was a bizarre, frightening creature who wore a horrid spiked collar around his neck, for reasons I did not understand. He had very long black hair, which he frequently braided, and when he smiled, I could see sharpened teeth.

Jafar turned to the magician and made a pathetic gesture towards him. "I have not yet started on him, but as you can see, he has already been worked over quite well."

I didn't want to look, but my eyes glanced down anyway. The magician's back was covered in unhealed lashes and vicious red welts from the previous night, and streaks of dry blood ran down his body and continued on down his legs. I could also see dark bruises between his ribs, on his arms and on his hip and legs. I had not approved of a barehanded beating by the guards.

I walked a little closer to the unmoving prisoner, and I stepped on something soft. When I glanced down, I saw a pile of something dark and fuzzy, and I jumped back a little, thinking it was some sort of dead animal. Jafar laughed.

"Yes, his head was shorn last night. That's only his hair you're stepping on, daroga."

I looked over at the magician's head, which was, indeed, shaved. They'd cut off his hair rather clumsily, and as a result, the remainder was choppy and uneven. It was custom to shave prisoner's heads as a tool of humiliation, but I was unexpectedly upset about this fact.

"Jafar, I did not approve for his head to be shorn and I did not say anything about beating this man with something other than a whip. Do you know who did this?"

The weird man gave a falsely innocent expression that spooked me. "Now, now, daroga. You know that all of our prisoner's heads are shaved, and it is rather difficult to control a struggling prisoner without giving him a mild beating to put him in his place. No harm done."

But there had been harm done.

"Let me look at him," Sabah called out loudly, and she was immediately granted access into the prisoner's chamber. I watched her as she stared at the naked magician, and she gave a rather disturbing, satisfied smile.

"Is he dead?" she asked bluntly.

"Heavens, my dear, no," said Jafar in a sickly sweet voice. "He still has a session with me. Would you like to stay and watch?"

Sabah considered the offer for a few moments, placing her hand on her hip and touching her lower, pouting lip with a finger. She looked as if she were trying to decide between sherbet or a bowl of candy. "No, I'm afraid I will decline, good sir, but…I am curious…what do you plan to do to him?"

Jafar gave that horrible, toothy grin I always hated. "Ah…my methods are quite secret, my dear princess, but I assure you they are very effective. My prisoners always regret committing their heinous crime by the time their session is halfway over."

Sabah shivered visibly with pleasure. "Good."

She then approached the magician somewhat tentatively, bending down to try and see his face. She reached out her slender golden hand, gripped what was left of the magician's hair and turned his head to face her.

"Dear God!" she cried, and dropped the man's head as if it were a large insect. "What have you done to his face?"

Jafar raised one long eyebrow. "That was already there, my dear. If I had created such a spectacle such as that, I would be the most sought-after torture master in all of Persia."

My attention was now focused on Sabah's face. She was clearly horrified by the magician's deformity, and unfortunately, it seemed to have raised her cruelty to an even greater degree.

"Make sure you punish him as severely as possible," she snapped to Jafar, standing up straight. "He deserves to feel pain for what he did to me…"

Her voice began to crack and falter, and I saw tears spring up in her eyes. She looked back down at the magician, and without warning, gave a swift kick to his already bruised ribs, her elegant shoe creating a good sized mark on his body. My heart skipped a beat.

I heard the man groan softly, but still he did not move. She kicked him once again, hard. The magician coughed harshly.

"For God's sake, don't kill him yet," I blurted out. Sabah's head snapped up and her eyes burned with irritation at me.

"Be quiet, daroga," she hissed. "I will do as I please to my attacker."

_I will do as I please…I will do as I please. _Not a day had gone by when I hadn't heard her say that. The princess was a spoiled brat that could not and would not be disciplined, just like a child. I could not scold her for her behavior.

"He's scheduled to be executed this afternoon, my lady," I informed her in a flat tone, breaking the awkward silence.

She scoffed. "Today? Oh no, postpone his execution until tomorrow. He has not had nearly enough punishment for me to be satisfied. Execute him tomorrow, daroga. I want to see him hung high."

I sighed quietly, my temples throbbing with a headache. "I will see it done, my lady."

Reluctantly, I left the chamber, still unable to rid my heart of the black dread that was sitting there. I did not understand why I felt so worried…I did not _like _the magician. I didn't even know him. Still, I felt slightly guilty for what I had sentenced him to, but he had raped the princess after all, and a crime was a crime.

"Sir…"

I stopped at the sound of the soft plea, turning my head to find the origin of the voice. My eyes fell on a cell to my left, on the other side of the hall. Two thin arms were protruding from the black bars of the cell door.

"Girl?" I called out uncertainly.

"Yes, sir, daroga. Please, come here close to me."

I moved towards her slowly, prepared for some sort of trap, but all I saw when I reached the cell door was the pitiful, tear streaked face of the magician's lover.

"Are you well?" I asked her, a stupid question considering her situation.

She shook her head, pulling herself closer to the bars so she could speak quietly with me. I squatted down in front of her, genuinely caring for her and wishing I could ease her pain. "I am not well, daroga. I want to know what happened to Erik."

It took me a few moments to recall that this was the magician's Christian name. "Ah…your magician," I said slowly, offering her a watery smile. "He…he is currently confined in a torture chamber not far from your cell."

Her large eyes widened, and her face began to pale. "Oh Allah…what are they doing to him?"

"I don't know what they're doing," I lied, unable to bring myself to tell her. "I haven't heard anything from the chamber, so they might have left him alone—"

The girl shook her lovely head again, stopping me. "No, daroga…I heard him last night, screaming, crying…they were hurting him…"

My heart broke for her. Crystal tears began to fall from her eyes, and her lip began to tremble. Almost out of instinct, I reached inside the cell and gently cupped her face with my hand. I was reminded very strongly of my own Laleh.

"There, there, my dear," I soothed, feeling her warm tears run between my fingers. "He's all right. I saw him this morning. You mustn't worry your little head about him."

"I love him," she whispered, rubbing her eyes with one small fist. "I can't stand to listen to his cries, daroga, when I know that he has done nothing!"

I frowned a little, and the black dread within my heart began to grow even colder. "Girl...what do you mean? He has done nothing?"

She nodded, sniffing and trying to wipe the remainder of her tears from her face. "Yes, daroga, he is innocent. I was there when Sabah knocked on his door. He did not attack her, he merely sent her away, and returned to me. He did nothing to her. You must believe me."

It was difficult for me to grasp this information, and I began to realize, with horror, that I might have just sent an innocent man to be tortured for a crime he did not commit.

"You are certain? You did not leave the room at any time?"

"I am certain," she said firmly.

This situation was going to be very difficult to clear up. The entire palace knew about this crime the magician had supposedly committed; they weren't readily going to accept my weak attempt to convince them that the magician was innocent. I didn't even know if I could keep him from being executed the following day.

"Girl…Aisha…I will do everything in my power to clear your magician's name. Please don't worry. Put a smile on your face." I grinned at her and lifted up her lips with my thumbs, causing her to laugh a little. "You will both be freed."

But in my heart, I was not sure.

-----------------------------------------------

Early evening finally came round as I paced restlessly in my apartment. My supper lay partially finished on my table, my laundry scattered carelessly all over the floor. My heart was far too troubled to worry about the absence of my obsessive cleanliness.

To my knowledge, I had never before imprisoned or ordered the execution of an innocent man, and the thought that this might have just happened terrified me. If I could not halt the execution of the magician, he would be unjustly killed and his lover left behind in anguish.

I had already realized, with a grim sense of irony, that this situation was almost identical to mine that I had experienced years ago. This fact had strengthened my heart, as I saw Aisha as another Laleh, pleading for my help. I would not let her down.

When the gilded clock on my mantle struck seven, I sighed and reluctantly went to put on my uniform. I had planned to visit the magician in his cell, to examine his physical state and to secretly inform him that he would not be killed. I hoped that Jafar had not done enough damage to render him unable to understand me.

Once I had fastened my sword to my waist, I ventured down into the depths of the palace again, noticing that the moans and the curses I heard had swelled considerably from that morning. I often forgot that my night was the prisoner's day, and this was the ideal time for them to be active.

I reached the magician's chamber, took my ring of keys and slowly unlocked the door, trying not to attract attention from any prison guards. I stepped inside, shut the door and made sure to lock it behind me before I turned to look at the magician.

He was hanging from the ceiling again, his mangled back facing me and his head hanging low between his shoulders. He made no noise that acknowledged my presence, but I visibly saw his body tense when he heard me close the door. He was afraid of more pain.

I walked slowly in front of him and saw that he was blindfolded. For one terrible moment, I wondered if Jafar had plucked the magician's eyes out, because I noticed tears of blood seeping from underneath the wrappings and running down his distorted face.

I glanced about the cell for a lantern of some sort so I could see him better, and found a slowly dying one sitting in the corner. I picked it up and lifted it in front of my face, casting its light over the magician's body.

Jafar had not been kind. The man's shrunken ribcage was covered in different shades of bruises, along with a good number of ugly gashes and scrapes. From the looks of it, one or two of his ribs had been broken as well.

I lifted the lantern a little higher, and noticed dark red lines wrapping around his throat. A sign of strangulation. Perhaps Jafar had choked the magician with his own lasso, making a mockery out of the former executioner.

I looked down briefly at the man's legs; one of them was sitting at a very awkward and unnatural angle. I sighed when I realized that it had been broken. This was a cruel punishment that I had seen before. After breaking one or both of a prisoner's limbs, torture masters would set the wretch free in the killing arena, giving him every opportunity to run away from his pain…if only his legs were not broken. The guards would laugh hysterically as they watched the prisoner drag himself across the ground with his arms, crying out in pain as his broken legs trailed behind him. The prisoners never got out of the arena, of course. They always collapsed from exhaustion before they even got twenty feet away.

I noticed that he had been tattooed on his right calf with Jafar's bizarre trademark, a black king cobra squeezing a man to death. Drawn by a hot needle, this marking was found only on the most notorious of prisoners.

I then lifted my lantern to the man's face, the face I was very reluctant to see. I did not particularly enjoy staring at his extreme deformity, which was now covered in cuts and several burns made from a hot poker.

The man cringed a little when I brought the lantern close, and I realized that his eyes could not have been removed; he could see the light through the blindfold. I lifted my hand and slipped my fingers under the bandage. The magician gasped and tensed again.

"I'm not going to hurt you," I assured him softly, lifting the blindfold slowly over his head.

Both of his eyes had been blackened so severely that they were almost completely swollen shut. He tried to blink so that he could see me.

"Who are you?" he rasped in a parched voice. His vocal cords had not fared well with his strangulation.

"I'm the daroga. Nadir Kahn. Do you remember me?"

It took him a moment to register my name in his tormented brain. "Daroga?" He repeated.

"Yes," I replied, "and your name is Erik."

In spite of his horrendous condition, Erik actually managed to lift his swollen, cut lips in a smile. "Yes…yes it is, daroga." I was unnerved by his calmness.

"Erik, I must ask that you listen to me very closely at this moment," I told him, lowering my voice considerably and putting my lips beside his ear. "I realize now that you are innocent, and I deeply apologize from my heart for your unjust punishment."

I heard him sigh, perhaps in relief.

"I will do everything in my power to stop your execution and free you and your servant girl."

"Aisha," he whispered, suddenly alert. "Is she all right? Have they hurt her?"

"No, no, she is safe and unharmed," I said quickly. "I spoke with her this morning, and she informed me of your innocence. I was not aware that Sabah feigned her rape."

He sighed again, obviously having some trouble breathing in the position that he was in. I glanced up at his chained wrists, noting the bleeding rings around the manacles. "I'm sorry for your pain at this moment, but there is nothing I can do. If I had the choice, I would release you so you could rest, but I fear that Jafar will become suspicious and know that there is someone coming in here."

"I understand," he breathed, squeezing his swollen eyes shut. A trickle of blood ran from his cut eyelid and slipped down his face. The heavy guilt in my heart only increased, and I had to look away.

"I'm very sorry," was all I could say once more as I took the blindfold and replaced it around his eyes. "You will be free tomorrow."

I could only dread to think what would happen if I could not accomplish this unbelievable task.


	11. Chapter 11: Daroga: Part Three

**Please note this chapter may contain violence. **

**DAROGA: THE PERSIAN'S NARRATIVE**

Part Three

Needless to say, I could not sleep that evening. Instead of dreaming my worries away in bed, I was pacing the floor of my apartment, wringing my hands behind my back and averting my eyes from the clock. Knowing the time would only heighten my stress.

I didn't know how I was going to contrive a plan to take both the magician and Aisha away from this place without risking their lives or my own. The prison guards were stationed at their posts every hour of every day, and, though they were rather stupid at times, they were smart enough to obey orders given to them. In this case, the order to keep the prisoner in his cell had been given to them by the princess.

Sabah had made it clear that she wanted the magician executed tomorrow afternoon, which gave me even less time to think. I would have preferred escaping under the cover of night, when our chance of being seen would have lessened, but seeing as it was extremely late in the evening already, I would either have to take them now or in the morning.

Rubbing my forehead with my palm, I moved to a small alcove in my wall beside the hearth and tugged on a thin cord inside, ringing the small bell one floor below my apartment. I needed to speak with my servant.

Within five minutes I heard a soft knock at my door and went to answer it. Darius was standing there in his robe, attempting to seem wide awake for me, but I could see by the heavy bags under his eyes that I had just woken him from a deep sleep.

"You called for me, daroga?" he whispered, adjusting his crooked nightcap.

"Yes, yes, come in," I said softly, motioning him into my room. I shut my door and locked it.

"Darius, I'm sorry for waking you at this hour, but I require your assistance tonight. I have been pacing my floor for hours and I'm afraid I cannot come to a conclusion."

"What is wrong?" Darius asked, his hands clutching the front of his robe. I heard him yawn.

I sighed and sat down heavily in my armchair, gesturing for Darius to seat himself on the floor before me. He was repeatedly smoothing his thin beard with one hand, his serious eyes focused on mine.

"I'm afraid I've condemned an innocent man to the gallows, my friend," I said darkly, another fresh wave of guilt washing over my heart. "He's already been lashed and had a session with Jafar down in the dungeons. He isn't in the best condition at the moment."

I nervously ran my hand through my loose hair, feeling Darius' eyes burning on my face. "This man—the palace magician—has a lover in the dungeons, one of the servant girls. She's being held in a cell on charges of being an accomplice. I spoke with her this morning, and she begged me to free the magician."

I groaned audibly through my hand over my face. "I gave her my word that I would free both of them. Oh, Darius, I'm such a damned fool. The magician's scheduled to be executed in the afternoon. I cannot expect to just walk down there and free that man without running into trouble. If I'm captured, I'll be hung alongside him. Allah, I don't know what to do."

I let my hand fall down onto the arm of my chair and gave my faithful servant a hopeless smile. "I really am stupid, aren't I, Darius?"

"Oh no, daroga, you are a brilliant man," Darius insisted. I had to chuckle at his praise.

"If I was so brilliant, I would not be in this situation right now," I said, standing up to soothe my restless legs. "I will need your help."

He nodded eagerly, standing up with me and bowing his head. "I will do whatever you wish," he promised, giving me a hopeful smile. My servant had always been very cheerful, always optimistic and predicting joy and happiness in the future. I enjoyed having him around me when I was upset or in one of my grief-fueled rages; he was gentle and understanding, always there at my side to help me. I would have gladly set my life in his hands at any point in time.

"What do you think I should do, then?" I asked, spreading my hands.

I saw him glance at the clock, and I couldn't keep my eyes from following. It was three in the morning.

"Would you be willing to act now, daroga?"

I sighed heavily. "Yes, but it will have to be quick. The sun will have risen by six-thirty and we may be seen."

Darius smiled, taking off his nightcap and crushing it in his hands. "Shall we leave for the dungeons, then?"

-oOo-

The prisoners were eerily silent this morning. I could only pick up an occasional cough or groan down in the endless chambers, whereas in the early evening, your ears were assaulted with screams and shouts from fighting inmates. I noticed that some of the prison guards were also sleeping, slumped up against the walls or lying in a heap on the floor.

"It is a simple plan, really, daroga. We'll go into the magician's chamber, and if we happen to encounter a prison guard at the door, we'll simply say we've been ordered by the princess to check on the status of the magician. After a moment, I will exit the chamber and inform the guard that the magician has died, and that you and I are preparing the body for burial. I will fetch supplies while you explain to the magician the arrangements we've made. When he's wrapped up, we shall remove his body and take it above ground, while you go and release the girl. You mentioned she is on the second level, yes, daroga?"

"That is correct," I said, trying to wrap my mind around this dangerous scheme. "There are fewer guards on the second level than there are on the third level, so she will not be difficult to release."

Darius grinned, rapping his temple with a finger. "The late night hours have not affected your brain at all, daroga!" he remarked, impressed.

My heart sank as we arrived at the magician's chamber; there was indeed a guard stationed outside the door. I cast Darius an uncertain glance, and he nodded just slightly.

"Guard, if you would please step aside," I said shortly, my voice raised to its authoritative tone. The burly man stared blankly at me.

"On whose orders have you come here?" he grunted.

"Upon the order of Princess Sabah," I stated, giving the man a cold glare. "She has requested that we check on the status of her prisoner."

The guard sighed, and I saw him roll his eyes. "Very well. Be quick."

I unlocked the door with my own ring of keys, pushing it open and smoothly locking it when Darius was safely inside. We both turned to look at the magician.

He was still hanging there by his wrists, with his broken leg jutting out at a bizarre angle and his head drooping against his chest. I could hear him breathing loudly, a comforting sound that assured me he was not really dead.

"Who's there?" He whispered hoarsely, perhaps dreading a midnight torture by Jafar.

"It's I, the daroga, and my servant," I replied as I stepped close to the man, motioning for Darius to hold his lantern high. The magician's blindfold was still wrapped around his eyes, but the blood had dried on his face. It seemed that no one had come into this chamber since early evening.

I took off the blindfold and dropped it on the floor, unable to keep myself from cringing when I saw his injured eyes. The swelling had gotten worse over the past few hours, now angry and purple.

"I'm going to lower you to the floor," I told him quietly, going over to the crank on the wall and praying to Allah it wouldn't squeak when I turned it. I unlocked the mechanism and slowly began to turn it in a counter-clockwise direction. There was a slight squeal whenever the handle reached the top of the wheel, but, thank Allah, it was not loud enough to be heard through the thick stone walls of the chamber.

The magician's body was slowly lowered to the ground, and I quickly motioned for Darius to help stretch him out on the floor. My servant hurried to adjust the man, ensuring that his fractured leg did not twist and fold beneath his body and trying not to touch his open wounds. I heard the magician give a strangled moan.

"You must be silent," I whispered when the magician was fully lowered, kneeling beside his head. He was trembling. "I am going to set you free."

At first, he didn't seem to understand, and tried to move, pulling a little restlessly on his chain. I grabbed his wrists and stopped him. "Magician—Erik—you must be quiet! We are going to tell the guard at your door that you have died, so you must act convincingly. Make not a sound."

I fumbled for my ring of keys, flipping through them until I found the prison key, one that opened doors and unlocked prisoner's restraints. I released the manacles from the man's wrists, noting the painful bleeding rings around them.

"I apologize for your pain," I told him, once again feeling guilty. If I hadn't been so stupid and acted so quickly, he wouldn't be in this chamber, and both our necks would be safe.

Darius removed his cloak and draped it over the magician's lower body, giving him some privacy. I saw his grimace as he glanced at the broken leg. "He will need a doctor, daroga."

"I know. We will find one to take care of them once they are on their way," I replied, placing my palm on the magician's bruised forehead. He was burning up with fever. There was no time to waste in this situation.

"Darius, go inform the guard that the prisoner has died, and fetch wrappings immediately," I said, straightening up a little. My servant nodded and left the chamber, while I prayed to Allah that the guard would believe him.

"Aisha," the magician whispered. I saw his eyes swivel beneath the bruised and swelling flesh. He looked very confused. "Where is she?"

"She's just up the stairs, on the second level," I said, wondering what her current physical and mental state was like. "She will be freed, too."

"Is she all right?"

"Yes, yes, as I said earlier, she is unhurt. You needn't worry about her."

Erik sighed, his head rolling to his left a little. "They have not...done anything to her?"

"No. She hasn't a scratch on her. She is far more worried for you than for herself."

The magician actually smiled a little, causing a scarlet drop of blood to trickle from his cut lip. "She is a good girl. She doesn't have to worry about me. I'm all right."

It was my turn to smile. This man, who had just been tortured for hours on end, was more concerned for the well-being of his beloved than for his own damaged body. His heart was far larger than mine could ever have been.

The door the chamber opened, and I tensed briefly, expecting the guard, but to my relief there was Darius, with a neatly folded pile of white fabric. I took it from him.

"Erik, we're going to wrap you in this sheet and take you out of the chamber. You mustn't make a sound at all, because you are supposed to be dead. Even if you feel pain, you must not cry out, or we shall all die. Do you understand?"

"Yes," was his soft reply.

I then took the sheet and began to unravel it, passing it beneath the magician's body and wrapping it lightly around his upper body; I did not want to bind the man in the sheet, after all. I covered his head carefully, wrapped the sheet twice around his face, and ripped off the remainder so I could cover his legs. I did not wrap the broken leg, but decided to leave it exposed, so I would not damage it any further.

"There we are...we're going to carry you out. Remember, not a sound," I told him quietly. I braced myself, slipped my arms under the magician's body and draped him over my shoulder. I heard him give a harsh gasp of pain, but thankfully, he did not cry out.

Darius opened the door for me, and I felt Erik go limp in an attempt to look more convincing as a corpse. The guard acknowledged me with a nod as I passed, not a trace of suspicion on his face. _Thank you, Allah._

I carried the man up the steps and hurried as quickly and quietly as I could to my room, where we would prepare him to leave the palace. I laid him carefully on the bed, and ordered Darius to start dressing him and packing rations while I went back down into the dungeons to fetch Aisha. I heard the clock strike four in the morning when I left my apartment.

Trying to clear my mind and remain calm, I dove back down the staircase, heading for the second level now, and taking out my keys as I did so. When I reached the girl's cell, I peeked inside to see her sleeping near the wall. At least she was getting some rest before her early morning journey out of Mazanderan.

"Aisha," I whispered softly, approaching her small form. I knelt down beside her and laid my hand on her arm. "Aisha, you must wake. I'm releasing you."

I noticed that she felt unusually cold. The dungeons were indeed icy, but her flesh had almost dropped to the same temperature as the stone floor. I gently took hold of her shoulders and rolled her over onto her back.

"Oh, God!" I hissed.

The girl's face was a pale icy blue, stained with dark trickles of dry blood from her mouth and nose. Her eyes were wide and glassy—I could see my reflection in them—and I began to smell vomit.

My eyes swept to the floor. There was indeed a puddle of bloody sick on the floor beneath her head, and sitting nearby was a bowl of gruel and a pitcher of water. The spoon, filled with a half-eaten scoop of the stuff, was sitting near Aisha's hand, and the drinking cup was sitting on its side, spilling water everywhere over the floor.

I reached out a trembling hand and took the spoon, raising it to my nostrils and sniffing it. I smelled a tinge of something sour through the scent of the oats, something very familiar to me. It was poison.

"My God...oh, Allah," I gasped, hurling the spoon to the floor. I stood up immediately, dropping Aisha's head to the floor with a thud and backing away from her dead body. I had failed her. In her greatest time of need, I had failed horribly. Only that morning, she had been smiling at me, wiping her tears from her beautiful eyes, grasping my hand and delighting in my promise that I would free her and her love from the prison.

What had she been thinking as she lay dying here, choking on her own vomit, convulsing on the ground, staring in horror at the blood that dripped from her mouth and her nose? Had she cried out for her lover to save her? Had she screamed for me, begging me to run and help her?

_I wasn't there..._

My rage boiled over and I furiously kicked the bowl of tainted gruel, splattering the contents over the wall. Who had done this? Who had wanted her dead?

_Sabah!_

She had to have seen the lovers kissing affectionately at some point, and her jealousy had turned to a desire to kill. She didn't want to punish the magician alone for refusing her; she wanted the girl to know she hadn't forgotten about her, either.

"Damn it!" I rasped, forcing myself not to scream and attract attention. I yanked open the barred door, not bothering to close it, and ran out of that hell-hole, stumbling up the stairs like a drunk man. I ran into the halls, dropping to my knees in front of an enormous window and raising my fists to the full moon in the night sky. The tears flowed freely down my face.

"My God...why...!"


	12. Chapter 12: Daroga: Part Four

**DAROGA: THE PERSIAN'S NARRATIVE**

**Part Four**

At some point in my time of grief, I managed to pull myself together and trudge back in the direction of my apartment. My hair was wild, pulled out of its usually neat tail, and my face was burning with a red rash from my tears. I did not know how on earth I was going to explain this to the magician, who had been so desperate to know if his lover was unhurt. Why, only a minute ago I had assured him that she was all right! To turn around now and inform him of her death would be so cruel that I feared he would die of shock, and I of shame.

When I reached my room, I slowly pushed open the door, almost afraid to look at the occupants. I saw Darius carrying an armload of clothing and setting it inside a large sack. The magician was lying on my bed, dressed in one of my white nightshirts, unmoving and silent.

"Ah, Daroga, you've returned," Darius said with a sigh of relief. He smiled, but when he saw the look on my face, his complexion paled.

"What is wrong?"

I weakly gestured for him to come over to me, casting a glance at the magician to make sure he was not trying to listen in. I leaned close to Darius and whispered in his ear. "The servant girl is dead. I suspect Sabah poisoned her prison rations."

Darius pulled back from me, eyes wide. He lifted his thumb at the magician behind him. "Daroga, he will not leave without her."

"Then we shan't tell him of her death until after we are out of the palace."

Darius cast me a disapproving look. "That would be cruel. He is awake, and he will ask where she is. Aren't you going to tell him the truth?"

I shook my head. "Telling him the truth now may send him into a fit, but if he is asleep when we leave, he will not cause trouble. Will you fetch me ether from the palace doctor's closet?" Darius gave me another accusing look, but I simply glared at him and motioned to my door. He grudgingly left, and I moved over to the bed where the Erik the magician lay. Darius had partially bandaged his face so that only his eyes, nose and mouth were exposed and able to move. He was a pitiful sight.

"Where is she?" he asked immediately, surprisingly alert considering his condition.

I swallowed and wet my dry lips, offering him a forced smile. "She's all right. I gave the keys to my servant so he could go fetch her."

Erik smiled again and breathed a sigh, closing his eyes. Just the thought of that girl seemed to soothe his troubled heart, but once he knew the truth, he would surely try to kill me.

_But if he never knew..._

Dark thoughts began to churn in my exhausted mind. The man was half-dead, his lover fully dead, and no clear future lay ahead in his life. Would it not be merciful to simply kill him? All it would take would be an overdose of the ether, and he would just go to sleep, never knowing that his beloved servant girl had been poisoned down in the dungeons.

I mentally slapped myself. _What the hell are you thinking, Nadir? You're searching for an easy way out...you're afraid to take a difficult road! This is no time to be a coward!_

I cast another glance down at the magician, who was now gazing softly out my window at the moon. I wondered what he was thinking.

I wandered over to my armchair and sat down, burying my face in my hands as I tried to sort out my thoughts. Where was I going to send the magician off to? I had planned to take him out of Mazanderan, of course, but I didn't want to leave him somewhere and expect him to live on his own. I would have to find some sort of house or hospital that would take him in and see to his health. He was my responsibility and I wanted to see that he was not left alone out in the wild.

Another thought passed through my mind. If I stayed with the magician on the journey out of Mazanderan and beyond, I wouldn't have to go to the trouble of finding someone to take him...but that was far too dangerous; Nasser would send out his men to look for me.

_You are the one who did this, Nadir...you must stay with him._

I looked once more at Erik's body, with his fractured leg lying twisted on the mattress and his cut wrists resting on his chest. That man had been tortured on my orders. He had done nothing to deserve the pain he'd felt down in the prisons, and of course, the girl hadn't either. Because of my daftness, and my damned hasty judging, one innocent soul was dead, and the other was close behind. I was just as guilty of crime as any scum down in the prisons.

I wondered what Erik's reaction would be when I told him of his lover's murder. Would he remain silent, refusing to speak with me, or would he lash out and strike me in rage? Personally, I preferred the latter, as seeing that man burn in his silent grief would be far more painful than taking a fist to the face.

_He will die if no one's there to help him._

It was true; without moral support, without a companion to stand by him and encourage him to carry on with his life, that magician would perish. I could have tried to find someone to stay with him, but deep in my heart, I knew that I was the one who should take on the task. I had created his pain. Now I would have to soothe it.

"Daroga." I turned to see Darius coming back into my room, carrying a small bottle. I nodded and went to fetch a wash rag from my bathroom, Darius behind me. "Be sure to hold him if he starts to struggle," I instructed my servant, taking the ether from him.

We both approached Erik, who turned his attention to us and seemed confused when he did not see Aisha.

"Where is she? I thought you were bringing her here."

I did not answer him as I quickly poured a bit of the ether onto the wash rag and placed it over his face. "I'm very sorry...I'll explain later," I said softly as he stiffened, starting to fight me by trying to twist his head away. Darius was much stronger than the magician, especially considering the man's weakened condition, and easily held his head down, taking his pulse at the same time to detect when he had fallen asleep. When Erik ceased his struggling and relaxed, Darius nodded to me and released the magician's head. I removed the rag and saw that he was fast asleep.

"We must move him immediately, Darius. It will soon be morning."

-oOo-

Carrying out the magician silently was not as problematic as I had expected. Darius and I took Erik out of my apartment and down to the stables, where my coach waited, drawn by two fine Arabians. _Another good reason for me to flee this place, _I thought. Stealing horses from the royal stables was a crime punishable by thirty lashings.

We carefully laid the magician down on the small padded bench, which proved to be far too small to adequately hold the man's gangling frame. We did our best to keep the injured leg from being twisted or crushed in the process.

I locked my coach and headed back for my apartment with Darius, revealing to him my plan along the way.

"I think it would be best if I stayed with the magician on the trip out of Mazanderan," I told him. Darius was stunned.

"Daroga, you cannot be serious. You are sworn to Nasser's service, if he were to track you down, you would die."

I gave a grim smile and shook my head. "I am sworn to the magician's service now. I am the one who did this to him, therefore I should be the one to fix this mess. It would be considered cowardly of me to simply leave him in an obscure little city and pray to Allah that he finds happiness. I am the one who should give him that happiness."

Darius nodded slowly and sighed. "Then I will go too, daroga. I will follow you where ever you chose to go."

I smiled more brightly and placed my hand on my faithful servant's shoulder. "I am very grateful, Darius. You will be of great help to me."

When I returned to my apartment, I took a sheet of parchment from my desk and sat down to forge a suicide note, Darius watching over my shoulder.

_My lord Nasser,_

_I regret to inform you that I have taken leave of the palace to leap into the Caspian Sea. You must forgive me for my actions. I have been afflicted as of late with a terrible burden of depression and sorrow. I cannot think of any other way to end my pain other than taking my life, and for this I apologize to you. _

_The magician died early this morning in the torture chamber. I made sure to bury him in one of the prison graves by the courtyard._

_Please inform my servant, Darius, of my death. _

_Daroga Nadir Kahn_

I took the note, folded it, and placed it on my bedsheets. Nasser's suspicions would not be raised when Darius was discovered to be missing in the morning; I had, after all, suggested in my letter that Darius was still at the palace. Therefore, the Shah would not assume that we had both run away, and perhaps would think that Darius had killed himself as well after learning of my supposed death.

Darius carried the large knapsack behind me as we returned to my coach, setting it inside after I had climbed in. "There is some dried fruit and meat, as well as some camel milk," he told me, casting a wary glance at the sleeping magician. "I've also packed a quilt should you become cold."

"Thank you, Darius. Let's be on our way. We must find a doctor."

My servant shut the door and went to take the reins. I leaned back and sighed. I had not taken a few minutes to rest for hours, and my muscles began to throb and ache with exhaustion. I glanced at my hands, and saw that they were streaked with Aisha's blood.

-oOo-

Thankfully, the sun was still mostly dormant by the time Darius pulled the coach up beside a local doctor's home in the city. I breathed deeply, prepared to stay calm in front of a stranger and possibly answer some probing questions. I could not afford to be tattled on by a foolish man, so I would have to be very careful.

"Come and help me take him out, Darius," I called softly, standing and lifting up the magician's shoulders. He was still out cold; his head flopped to and fro when I shifted his body. Darius took him under the knees, delicately avoiding the broken calf, and slowly we carried him out of the coach and up to the doctor's doorstep. I knocked on the small door.

Understandably, it took several minutes for the doctor to come to the door as it was so early in the morning. A drawn, sleepy face with a silvered beard stared out at me from inside the house and peered up at my face.

"This man needs immediate medical assistance," I said shortly, not waiting for him to speak first. I toed the door expectantly with my boot.

The doctor seemed confused at first, but he allowed us to come in, turning on an oil lamp as he did so. "Lay him here," the man instructed, pointing to a mat on the floor. Darius and I set the magician down and squatted down to observe the doctor's work. I noticed that his eyes were glancing at the sign of the Shah on my uniform, and I instantly wished I had worn something else.

"What happened to this man?" he asked, gently running his hand over Erik's fractured leg and bandaged face. His dark eyes were narrowed.

"He was attacked by a band of thieves," I lied smoothly. "My servant and I found him lying on the side of the road while out on patrol."

The doctor nodded, but he looked skeptical, which made me nervous. "Odd...he's not as dirty as I would have expected. The roads are quite dusty." This man thought he was very clever. I made no comment.

The doctor finally began to work on the magician. He first set his leg and strapped it to a thin wooden plank. It was a rather painful task to watch. I could hear the bones grinding as he aligned them correctly, and the sound sent shivers up my spine. Thankfully, the magician did not feel much pain, and only gave long, soft groan in protest. If he had been fully conscious, I was sure he would have been screaming in agony.

To my dismay, the doctor became even more suspicious when he reached the marks on Erik's neck made by strangulation. He cast me a strange look, but said nothing as he treated the various cuts on the man's body. Strangely enough, he also remained silent when he unwrapped the bandages on the magician's face and cast his gaze on the horrific deformity laden with burns, bruises and sores. The doctor's silence was scaring me.

My heart leapt into my throat when he gently turned the magician's body over and saw the long welts and gashes from the flogging. He shot me a triumphant glance.

"Just what sort of thieves attacked this man, _daroga?"_ he sneered, glancing pointedly at the symbol of the Shah on my uniform. "Did they shave his head as well? And why does he have the Murderer's Cobra burned into his leg? Is that not the sign of a particularly dangerous criminal?"

I smoothly pulled out my pistol from beneath my vest, too fast for the doctor to react. His eyes bulged when he saw the silver barreled weapon pointed directly at his heart. I didn't want to shoot him, but if he threatened to run and tell the Shah or turn in our newly released prisoner, I might have been forced to.

"It is not wise to meddle in other people's business, Doctor," I said calmly, though my heart was racing. "I suggest you treat this man's injuries quickly so that we can be on our way. Otherwise, I fear I may have to kill you. That wouldn't be very pleasant now, would it?"

The doctor's face had gone ashen, and he licked his lips. "Yes...of course," he stammered, returning to the magician's wounds. I noticed his hands were trembling throughout the process.

After applying a healing herbal salve to Erik's open wounds, he pressed linen strips to his back and smoothed them. He glanced up at me. "Do you require medicine to kill the pain?" He asked me softly, acting as if he were afraid to speak. I nodded, and he rushed to grab a small bottle of amber liquid. He coupled it with a silver spoon and handed it to me. "Give him a spoonful each day if he feels pain."

I tucked the items into my vest and nodded once more to him. "I thank you for your service. You will keep this event under your hat. I have men watching you." The doctor's eyes widened and he bowed his head in understanding.

I kept my pistol loosely trained in his direction as we shuffled out the door, carrying Erik, and I caught a glimpse of his frightened eyes just before the door closed.

-oOo-

I honestly cannot tell you how long we rode in the coach on the journey out of Mazanderan. I dozed for most of the trip, sitting up in the small hard seat across from the magician. I thumped my head a few times against the wood paneling whenever the wheels dipped into a rut, which bothered me but was not painful enough to fully wake me up.

The sun had risen already and the day was proving to be very cool and overcast, which suited me fine. Persia had suffered from some very hot weather as of late, so the cool breeze was very nice for a change. I found myself craving for a pitcher of the palace's excellent lemonade when I smelled the salty air coming in off the Caspian Sea. My chapped lips lifted in a pleased smile.

I cast my eyes over at the sleeping magician. He was still lying in that awkward position, but he was properly bandaged this time and looked much more comfortable. I had set a wet dishrag on his forehead to ward off his fever, and now I discovered it had slipped onto his shoulder. I reached over to pick it up.

I jumped a little when Erik shifted, pressing his hand to his face. Apparently, the jostling and the noise of the wind was beginning to wake him.

"Where..." he started softly. His bruised eyes slowly flickered open as wide as they could, and he examined his surroundings.

"You're safe, Erik," I assured him with a smile. "We're traveling out of Mazanderan, in the direction of the Caspian Sea."

He lifted his head a little, staring at his bandaged leg with a confused look in his eyes.

"We took you to a doctor. Your wounds were treated and we have medicine if you feel pain," I explained.

He nodded slowly, still casting his eyes around the interior of the coach. He was looking for something.

"Where is Aisha?"

The question I had been dreading for hours had finally been asked. My first reaction was to lie and say that she was fine, she was behind us in a separate coach, or she was riding beside us on a proud Arabian, with her beautiful hair flowing behind her and a bright, laughing smile gracing her face. A living, breathing angel.

"Erik..." I tried, but my throat was drying out. I cleared it and nervously threaded my fingers through my hair.

"Aisha's dead. I'm sorry."

------------------------------------------

I set down my pen as a soft rapping sounds at my door, casting a glance at my pocket watch. It is already nine. I have been writing for much longer than I thought. I stand up and adjust my soft smoking jacket before I greet my caller.

"Hello, Erik," I say, seeing the familiar liquid blue eyes staring out at me from the darkness.

"Supper is on the table. Kabab tonight." He sounds tired, but I smile. He knows that I enjoy having a traditional Persian meal from time to time. Perhaps he has noticed my recent quietness and my depression.

He leaves and I go to put away my journal and my quill pen, still unfamiliar with the placement of the drawers and cabinets in Erik's desk. He has been very kind to let me borrow his office this week. I sigh as my thoughts travel to the past. Long gone is that shy, gentle magician. It is ultimately my fault that he is changed...I know I will never see that old spark of real joy in his eyes again.

I blow out my lamp. I mustn't keep Erik waiting; he can have quite a temper.


	13. Chapter 13: Daroga: Part Five

**A/N: Dear readers, thank you for your patience. I must inform you that since school started in early August I have been insanely busy (I rarely have time to eat lunch and dinner). I have very little time to write and so I will not be updating my two stories, The Black Cobra and Pressed Roses, as frequently, but please know that I have not forgotten about them. Thank you and enjoy.  
**

**DAROGA: THE PERSIAN'S NARRATIVE**

**Part Five**

"Damn," I muttered softly as the flame beneath the tea kettle went out yet again. The ocean wind had picked up and no matter how many windows I closed, the strong breeze continued to hiss through the shutters and blow out my flame.

"Would you like some help, Daroga?" Darius asked me with a laugh, stepping into the coach. I snorted and handed him the box of matches.

"It will be a miracle if you can keep this flame alight for more than ten seconds!" I chortled, picking up my woolen coat and ducking outside the small door to get a breath of fresh air. After three days cramped inside that wagon, it felt wonderful to feel the sea breeze on my face.

I smoothed back my hair and glanced up at the towering rocky cliffs that sloped upwards from the shore. A flock of ravens circled slowly above my head, loosing throaty caws and peering down at me. Perhaps they mistook me for an appetizing carcass. "I don't look that bad, do I?" I chuckled to myself, slipping my hands in my pockets and proceeding to walk down the beach.

I looked up and saw Erik sitting in the sand a few yards away, his head turned from me as he gazed out across the sea. His bandaged leg lay stretched out next to his crutches. I had crudely fashioned them out of the branches of a birch and had given them to him, as as sort of gift, I suppose...a weak attempt to make up for my stupidity.

He had spoken to me very little from the day I had given him the grim truth about Aisha, and I was genuinely concerned for him. He would respond with "yes" or "no" or the occasional "give me that," but he never made conversation or attempted to join the chats that Darius and I had over dinner. I tried to make him feel welcome by smiling at him or patting him on the back, but all I ever received was a cold, hard glare and a shrug. I was worried that I had damaged him permanently.

"Erik?" I called out as I neared him. He didn't turn to look at me. I squatted down beside him and cast a glance at his face. He liked to keep it covered with a large black kerchief with holes cut out for his eyes and nose, even though I had assured him many times that he did not have to worry about being laughed at. It was only later that I understood that he felt naked without some sort of mask, and so therefore I had stopped bothering him about it.

I looked out to the Caspian Sea, squinting against the glare of the sunlight on the clear waters. The gentle waves crept up to Erik's toes and then soaked into the sand.

"Would you like a cup of tea, Erik?" I asked him. "Lemon. It cleanses the body."

I heard him chortle sarcastically and he flexed his hand resting on his knee. He turned to look at me.

"I don't think my body needs to be cleansed right now," he replied quietly. His physical appearance depressed me; his lids were slipping partially over his eyes, his forehead was pale, and the bruises about his neck had turned an ugly yellow-green. The marks around his throat made by a cord stood out deep and red on his flesh.

"I see," I said, tearing my gaze away from Erik's sorrowful eyes. "Perhaps later, then."

"Perhaps." He looked down at his hand dragging through the sand, his fingers making four horizontal ruts.

"Would you like to come in with us? It's warmer in the coach," I offered once more.

"No...please leave," he answered coldly, turning his eyes out to the sea again. His rudeness annoyed me for a moment, but I withdrew those feelings quickly, reminding myself that he was hurt because of my doing and he would obviously not be eager to speak with me for some time.

"You may want to move back, the tide is beginning to rise," I warned him quietly. I stood up and walked away, not wanting to deal with a snappy response from him, and headed back into my coach to check on Darius' progress with the tea.

"It's about to boil, daroga," my servant announced as I opened the door. Indeed, the wonderful, tangy fragrance of lemon tea met my senses and I grinned.

"Good work, Darius," I chuckled, taking a seat and crossing my legs.

"Are you all right?" he asked, stirring the kettle with a little spoon. I watched as he poured it into three china cups, and recalled that Erik did not want tea.

"Yes, I'm afraid I'm just exhausted," I sighed, scratching my head and taking the cup of tea from Darius. I sipped the hot drink slowly, relishing the warm sensation in my stomach. I felt like a silly little boy again, drinking lemon tea at Christmastime with my mother, both of us wrapped in an old blanket. I smiled.

"I'm worried for the magician," I said softly, as if I were afraid Erik was eavesdropping nearby. "He has hardly said a word since we left the palace."

Darius nodded, leaning up against the wall as he drank his tea. "He is in great pain, daroga. It will take a very long time for him to come to terms with his grief."

"I know that," I said, "but I am afraid he will never come to terms with it. I fear I've destroyed him."

"You haven't," he assured me. I rubbed my tired eyes.

Darius tapped his fingers on his teacup. "Where are we going, daroga?"

I had to admire my servant's patience. If I had been him, I would have asked this question a thousand times before we had even left the palace, but this was the first time he had brought up the subject of our destination. I smiled and sighed loudly.

"I want to go wherever Erik will be happy," I said, looking up at Darius. "When he is content with his living space, then we will stop. His pain is the result of my actions. I must try and help him as much as I possibly can."

"You have a good heart," Darius replied quietly.

"As do you, Darius; never have I known a servant who would risk his neck to follow his master. You are very faithful."

My servant bowed his head in thanks. I finished off the last of my tea and reached out my hand for the third cup. "I'll go give Erik his tea. I have a feeling he'll refuse it." Darius glanced out the window to look at Erik as he reached for the tea, and he suddenly frowned.

"Where is he?"

My heart skipped a beat and I stood up abruptly, pressing my face to the little window. Erik was gone.

I dashed out of the coach as fast as I could, my mind racing with a thousand possibilities. He could have walked away to a different area of the beach, he could have gone to explore the dunes...or he could have gone into the waves...

"Erik!" I screamed, standing at the very edge of the shore, where the water was ankle deep. I only heard the distant roar of gathering waves.

I cast my eyes about wildly, looking for any sign of him, the mask, his clothing...

_His crutches! _

I spotted the wooden crutches partially sitting in the water, shifting back and forth as the tide came in. Erik was nowhere to be found nearby. Black dread flooded my heart. He'd gone into the sea.

I stripped off my heavy coat and flung it at Darius without looking, ignoring his protests of "daroga, I'll go," and ran into the ocean, gasping with shock at the icy coldness of the water. Erik would freeze to death if I didn't find him within several minutes.

I started to swim when the water rose to my waist, scanning the surface for a head, a hand, a limb. I could see nothing. I held my breath and ducked beneath the water, opening my eyes to meet almost complete blackness. I remembered what he had been wearing: a white shirt, black trousers and a violet robe. He would be impossible to see down there.

My lungs soon began to burn and I was forced to come up for air. I had moved about thirty feet out into the sea, and I saw Darius's shrinking form standing on shore, holding my coat and helplessly watching me. I sank back down into the water and forced my eyes wide open, despite the salt that stung them.

Panic began to fill my mind. How long ago had he walked into the sea? Five minutes? Ten? Was I looking for a dead body? At the thought of this, I silently cursed my being. I had failed once again, leaving him unsupervised near such a large body of water. I should have taken into account his depression and the possibility of a suicide attempt.

Suddenly, something brushed my leg and I turned my head. I saw a pale hand.

I didn't even check to see if it was indeed Erik. I seized the hand and pulled, kicking frantically in the direction of the surface. When my head broke the water, I hauled my passenger up beside me so that he could breathe.

I was partially relieved when I saw the masked face, but I didn't know if he was alive or not. I had to get back to shore first in order to try and revive him. I untied and threw off the waterlogged robe that he was still wearing and started to swim slowly back to land, dragging Erik's body behind me and trying to keep his head above water. When I neared the shore, Darius waded in to help me pull him up onto the sand. We set his body down and I turned him over. His arms flopped over on his chest and his head fell to the side. I ripped off the kerchief on his face as he began to cough weakly, water tricking from his mouth and down his chin.

Quite suddenly, Erik's body convulsed and he retched, spraying more water from his mouth onto the sand. He coughed and hacked harshly, blinking open his eyes to meet mine. I sighed and thanked Allah, pushing my soaking wet hair away from my forehead. Now that I knew he was alive, a relieved anger began to well up inside me.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?" I bellowed at him as he stared blearily up at me with red eyes. "Running into the sea! You would have died if I hadn't come out here looking for you!"

To my surprise, Erik roughly shoved my face away with his palm, still coughing, and attempted to roll over.

"Don't you have anything to say?" I demanded to know. His refusal to speak was finally beginning to annoy me. I had just risked my life to save his, and he had nothing to say about it: no thanks, no acknowledgment even, just his damned silence.

"Why did you come and get me?" he said softly.

The question was very odd. I blinked and for a moment I was speechless.

"I feel it is my duty to take care of you," I replied, wiping the salt water off my face. "I risked my neck to take you from the palace. I wouldn't allow you to try and kill yourself, after all the time I spent trying to organize your escape!"

"You fool, why did you take me from the palace in the first place!" Erik roared with startling power. His body was tense and curled like a tiger's, his red eyes wide and glaring at me. I was taken aback by his sudden volume, as he had always been so quiet whenever he had spoken to me.

"If you had any heart at all, you would have killed me instantly instead of letting me suffer like this," he barked, struggling to rise to his knees and stand up without his crutches. I grabbed his arm to prevent him from injuring his leg, but he forcefully pushed me away and started off in the direction of the rocky sand dunes, limping very heavily as he swung his bandaged leg out in front of him.

As I expected, he didn't get very far, and soon fell to his knees in the sand. He buried his head in his hands, and I heard him crying faintly.

I motioned to Darius to return to the coach with my coat, and I sighed deeply. I was soaked to the skin, cold and exhausted, but I knew that I needed to talk with Erik before I went inside to dry off. I approached him and stood beside him, watching as he wiped his tears with a fist.

"Leave," he ordered quietly, snuffling and gasping with silent sobs.

"No," I replied softly, squatting down to his face level. "You need help."

"I never said I wanted your damn help," he snapped at me, casting me a very irritated look. "You forced me to come with you. You seem to think that you're doing me a great favor."

I smiled very lightly, hoping to make him feel more relaxed in my presence. "I want to help you. I know I did wrong...I've injured you very badly and I made a terrible mistake, an awful mistake...but I want to make up for your pain my helping you heal."

"If you had let me go out into the ocean alone, you would have healed me," he replied in a clipped voice, wiping salt water from his face. "Why do you insist on prolonging my pain? Do you take some sort of pleasure from it?" He gave me a disgusted glance.

"No, Erik. I don't want to prolong your pain, I want to stop it. Can you not see that I am trying to help? I am your friend, and so is Darius. I took you from the sea because drowning yourself would not have healed you. Do you think Aisha would have wanted you to do that?" I asked gently.

Almost immediately his demeanor changed, and he became quiet, staring at the sand. He was thinking about this statement.

I stood up and walked to the shoreline, where Erik's crutches sat, partially floating in the seafoam. I picked them up, shook off the water, and took them back to their owner, who was still sitting there on the ground.

"Your crutches," I said shortly, setting them down by his side. "I'll be in the coach."

I walked away from him, my heart laden with depression and that ever-present guilt.

-oOo-

That night, Erik finally came into the coach after Darius and I had finished dinner. From where I lay, curled up in a corner on the floor, I watched as he scooped out the remainder of the soup from supper from a pot on the stove. He dipped the wooden spoon in his mouth and slurped loudly.

"It's cold," he commented in my direction, vaguely.

"It's been on the stove for an hour," I replied.

He sighed and set the pot back down, and then took a seat on the small bench that he used for a bed. He leaned his crutches up against the wall.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"Wherever you please," I replied, and I saw him smile beneath his crude mask.

"France," he said almost immediately.

"France? Why?"

"I was born there," he said, looking slightly offended at the fact that I did not know this. "In Rouen. It's a beautiful country. Have you never been there?"

"I'm afraid I haven't," I admitted, spreading my hands. "My duties prevented me from traveling anywhere outside of Persia."

Erik nodded slightly, obviously not paying much attention to me, as his eyes were focused outside the little window and he was still smiling. "I'll go to France. I haven't been there in years..."

"Do you have family there?"

He shot me a hard look. "No. They're all dead. Killed in a house fire."

I was a little taken aback by his bluntness. "Oh...my sympathies."

The image of his horribly distorted face passed before my eyes, and I slowly started to understand...I could see a little boy running out of a burning structure, on fire, trying to hold his melting face together with his hands...

"I'm very sorry," I whispered.

"Don't be. I've moved on," he said curtly, folding his arms across his chest and leaning his head back against the wall.

I made a quick, silent prayer to Allah to bless the tortured creature sitting across from me as he fell asleep, but I remained awake as blurry visions of a fire and a screaming boy continued to swim before my eyes. They haunted me in that moment, and they would continue to haunt me for the rest of my days.


	14. Chapter 14 Daroga: Part Six

Dear readers, I am so very sorry for my long delay in posting a chapter. I have been extremely busy with schoolwork and I don't have time to write, unfortunately. I haven't forgotten about my stories, but my chapters will not be posted as often.

DAROGA: THE PERSIAN'S NARRATIVE

Part Six

"How many tonight?"

Erik's low voice came floating out of the darkness of the tent and I could not see him, but I heard the twang of violin strings being plucked.

I leaned back in my seat and cast a glance through the slit in the tent's flap.

"I'd say twenty," I informed him upon seeing the eager faces of women, and some men, eagerly waiting to see the musical genius. I could hear the audience conversing very loudly in French, a language I still had not grasped, but even though I could not understand them, I took pleasure in listening to the beautiful words that streamed from their excited mouths.

There was a low rustle of heavy fabric from the corner of the tent, and Erik took a seat before me, adjusting his long velvet cloak around his shoulders. He'd tied a blood red sash around his face with strategically placed holes for his eyes and his nostrils.

"I'm very tired," he commented, looking down at the violin in his lap and fondly stroking the polished wooden body.

I nodded, understanding, keeping my hands folded behind my head. I was exhausted as well, more mentally than physically, but tired nonetheless. Erik's new temporary career as a traveling magician required patience and endurance on both our parts.

He sighed and stood up, craning his head to look out the tent flap. "My audience awaits," he snorted, and disappeared outside. I lay down on my bed and covered my head with my pillow to muffle Erik's music. I hated to do it, but admittedly, his music aways chilled me to the bone and left me feeling empty and lost. The trembling wails his violin made as he drew the bow across the strings would make my eyes burn with tears, and my mind would drown in a mess of sad memories.

Indeed, as Erik's performance drew to a close some five minutes later, I could hear women sobbing in the audience amid strong applause. I removed the pillow from my head and rolled over. Erik came back into the tent, set his violin back into its case on the floor, and tossed his red cape onto his mat. He picked up his black traveling cloak and put it on, turning to face me.

"Where are you going?" I asked him.

"I need a drink," he informed me, pulling his hood over his head. "Care to join me?"

"Erik, you know how little money we have," I said sternly. I did not want to start drinking all of our money away, and I did not like to be in Erik's presence when he was drunk (he tended to be frighteningly short-tempered and often shouted at me if I happened to bother him).

Erik grinned like a cat and showed me a fist-full of franc coins and some bills. "My audience was quite generous tonight. We will have plenty left over, Nadir. Come, let's go."

I sighed and relented, standing up to take my own cloak. I tried to look on the bright side as I left the tent with Erik...the fairgrounds were busy tonight, perhaps a beautiful young woman would catch my eye.

The dim orange lanterns that lit our path flickered gently at us as we passed them, revealing the various stalls packed side by side, with their vendors barking out their wares and thrusting them forcefully in our direction. I cast them annoyed glances, but Erik continued walking as if he hadn't heard them at all.

A soft, rhythmic beat reached my ears as we turned a corner, and I saw a moderately sized crowd gathered around some performer. I was interested, as the music sounded vaguely familiar, almost like the music that was often played in the Shah's palace. I pressed closer through the crowd until I could get my head and shoulders somewhat closer to the attraction.

I was highly pleased and surprised by what I saw; three exquisite Asian girls dancing on a mat, swinging their hips and waving their slender arms in a fascinating pattern. It was then that I noticed that the crowed consisted entirely of men, with their faces arranged similarly to mine; wide eyes, open jaw, slobbering like a dog. A few of them had their women with them, who were irritably poking their men and insisting that they leave. It was all very amusing to me.

Suddenly, one of the young women grabbed my hand and pulled me partially onto the mat with her. I found myself staring into her chocolate almond eyes, with long black lashes and perfectly sculpted eyebrows. She laughed--I smelled wine on her breath-- and she suddenly kissed me on the cheek before waltzing away. I stood there, very much dazed, and probably would not have moved if Erik had not seized my arm and pulled me away.

"Idiot," he snapped at me, stepping on my toes on purpose. "We are going to get a drink, not stand about like animals and stare at women."

I almost made a snappy remark to him, but I knew that a fist in the face would be my response and so I held my tongue.

Erik seemed to know where good drinks were sold, because he went straight to a stall and spoke to the man there. I stood some feet behind him, my hands in my pockets and my face still flushed from my encounter with the Asian girl. I was still quite angry with Erik for taking me away from my rare bit of fun. He got to perform for admirers every night, while I sat alone in the tent with a pillow over my head. I thought I deserved to have a good time for once.

"Here." A glass was thrust in front of me, and I took it. It was rum.

"Thank you," I muttered, casting a side glance at Erik, who was already taking a generous swig from his glass.

"Careful," I said.

He laughed. "Why do you say that?"

"You're not very pleasant to be around when you're drunk."

"Well, you could always go back to the dancing girls if you can't stand me any longer," Erik replied shortly, taking another gulp of rum. I snorted sarcastically.

"Erik, I would appreciate it if you considered my words more carefully and more often. I did not save your hide so you could drink yourself to death."

Erik licked his lips and coughed. "Nadir, I have only had a few drinks these past three nights. That is not nearly enough to call me a drunkard."

"Yes, but I know you well enough to see that you might very well become accustomed to drinking every night." It was true; even though I had known him for little more than two months, I had come to see that Erik had an extremely addictive nature and it was difficult to take him away from his routines or things he enjoyed, like drinking.

He shrugged nonchalantly and took another drink. I hated when he did that. He hated agreeing with me and so he preferred to act as though he did not care. If he kept up this attitude he would not go very far in life if he hoped to live it!

Erik had changed very dramatically since we had left Mazanderan. For a short period of time after we had fled, I remember him being very quiet and unresponsive, unwilling to do much other than sit and stare out the window of the caravan. Now, he was sarcastic, a little louder, and almost annoying. I suspected that he was in great pain, and he had put on this bold, careless mask to hide his feelings. At the same time, I was a little insulted by this, because I felt that I had tried my best to help him trust me. He still saw me as a stranger, a bothersome pest that he had to tag along with. I wanted him to see that I was a friend, here to help him.

He was also particularly sensitive on the subject of women. Even though he had been in a short relationship with Aisha, he now acted as though he disliked women and did not need to be in love to be happy. He would scoff when he saw couples kissing or holding hands, and make comments to me about what fools they were. I think he was attempting to block Aisha from his memory by erecting a facade of false emotions.

"There's a crowd gathering," Erik suddenly commented, gesturing to a group of people moving towards a singular area, near the heart of the fairgrounds. I could only follow him, taking another sip of my rum as I walked. It was actually quite good.

I saw that the small crowd was gathered around a makeshift stage, looking up at a man and a woman, both rather portly and jolly. They were singing very loudly as they triumphantly lifted bottles of wine to the crowd, which cheered and whooped in response. Erik laughed, and I couldn't help but chortle.

The woman was a good singer and had a very rich, magnificent voice like a diva, but the man beside her, with his arm draped around her shoulders, was struggling to compete with her. His voice sounded like a faint mumble and his face was turning red beneath his long gray mustache. Obviously the woman was a little more sober than he, and this only made the show more hilarious.

As the couple concluded their song with a dramatic flourish, the crowd applauded them and whistled. The woman tottered offstage and winked to her admirers, pressing a hand to her red face and fluttering her lashes before she stepped off the platform.

"Well, that was highly entertaining," Erik laughed. I turned to look at him and saw he was holding an enormous bottle of wine. At first I thought I was seeing things – he hadn't had the bottle when he arrived – but then I saw him take a deep swig from it and pass it to a man behind him. Apparently some generous fellow had brought along his own bottle of wine to share with his friends, and it was going around the entire group.

The next performer was a young woman wearing a pastel blue dress and clutching a songbook in her hands. She looked very much like a timid deer, with wide blue eyes and a long arching neck. She was a petite thing. Her blond hair was tied back in a long, soft braid that she had slung over her shoulder.

I saw a young man near the stage speak softly to her and she smiled nervously. She opened the songbook and began to sing very quietly, a song in French that I did not understand. The crowd had become quiet, whispering to each other whilst still passing along the bottle of wine.

She was not a bad singer at all, she had a very pleasant voice to listen too, but I was getting tired and felt the urge to go back to the tent and sleep. I turned to Erik to tell him what I was doing.

Erik's eyes had grown very large and he was staring at the girl on the stage with a look I couldn't read. His lips were pressed tightly together in a thin line.

"Erik," I whispered, touching his arm. He responded by stepping on my toes again, hard. It hurt. I swore under my breath at him and stormed away, unwilling to deal with him right now. He was acting like a child and I did not want to trail after him like his father and stand there all night.

I returned to my tent and changed into my nightshirt, being sure to say my prayers at the foot of my bed before laying my head on my pillow. I had trouble going to sleep and after some time I checked my pocket-watch by the dim light that came through the tent flap. It was half-past ten, and Erik had still not returned.

-----------------

At long last, I eventually drifted off to sleep, but no more than three hours had passed before I was awakened again by the sound of male voices shouting outside. I groaned, sat up, and shoved my feet into my slippers to see what was going on. The noise was uncomfortably close to my tent.

When I stuck my head out of the tent flap, I saw a group of people in a scuffle in the dirt before me. I could the shadows of three men beating on one in on the ground.

"Get away from here, sons of bitches!" I barked loudly at them, waving my arms and walking towards them. Their heads lifted up to look at me, and they scattered like dogs, leaving their victim in the dirt. The man was struggling to get up. I approached him to help him.

"Erik!" I exclaimed when I saw the mask. He sniffed and wiped his mouth, and my temper began to boil. I grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet.

"Nadir," he mumbled. He smelled strongly of rum, and this only fueled my anger.

"You've drunk yourself stupid again," I snapped, pulling him back towards the tent. "Wretched bastard! I've had enough! I will not let you go out for drinks from this time on. It is a waste of hard earned money."

Erik staggered and coughed as I pulled him into the tent. I pushed him down onto his cot. I felt badly for his pain, but the man needed to learn a lesson for once.

"Nadir," he mumbled again, rubbing the back of his head.

"What do you have to say for yourself? I am angry that the only thing you can think of to do with your life is to drink it all away! You will be put in your coffin as a young man if you continue with this nonsense!"

"Did you see her?"

"What?"

"Did you see her?" Erik slurred. I stared at him and I suddenly realized that he was crying. It startled me.

"Who?"

"That angel," he whispered, his bleary eyes swiveling up to meet mine. "That wonderful angel who was singing."

I sighed. "Erik, you really are going mad. What are you talking about?"

"The girl!" he barked drunkenly, wiping his tears away with a fist. "That girl...with the golden hair."

I suddenly remembered; the young lady who had been on that little stage, singing to the small crowd. I did recall seeing her blond hair...and I remembered the look I'd seen on Erik's face.

"What about her?" I asked, more gently.

"She...she was..." he waved his hand in the air as if he could not possibly find a word to describe her. "Exquisite."

"She was very pretty," I agreed, sitting down across from him.

"Pretty!" He nearly shouted, staring at me in disbelief. "My God, she was beautiful...the most beautiful creature I have ever seen...gorgeous, gorgeous! Did you hear her voice, Nadir! Oh! It was like hearing Christmas bells in the snow."

I held back a smile. I had not expected this to happen; Erik was smitten with a woman again, perhaps more intensely this time. I was happy for him, but at the same time I was worried. This girl was a complete stranger, and from the display of Erik's strong emotions, he would go to great lengths to try and meet her. I had to watch him.

"What are you going to do now, Erik?" I asked him.

He blinked at me and swayed a little. "I will look for her tomorrow. I'll walk about the fairgrounds with my violin and she will hear me."

I smiled and nodded, to please him. "Of course, Erik. We shall see."

He grinned satisfactorily and laid down on his cot. I gazed sadly at him. He was almost comical with his lanky legs hanging in space and his arm draped on the ground, but to me, the scene was more depressing than funny. I could only wonder what lay ahead in this poor man's life, and if it would possibly kill him.

----------------

"Thank you for supper tonight, Erik."

I dab at my mouth with my napkin and sit back in my chair, my stomach full of kebab and my body warm from the fire in the hearth. I glance across at Erik, who is hunched in his chair, staring at the empty plate before him.

"What's on your mind?"

He looks up at me. "Would you mind taking care of my house for a week or so, Nadir?"

I raise an eyebrow. "This week, Erik? Of course...may I ask where you are going?"

He looks back down at the table. "I've a mind to visit Christine."


	15. Chapter 15: Daroga: Part Seven

**DAROGA: THE PERSIAN'S NARRATIVE**

**Part Seven**

I awoke early the next morning. I could tell it would be a miserable day already; cold air was seeping in beneath the thin walls of the tent and they shook slightly from a breeze. I groaned and rolled over to see Erik's cot on the other side of the tent. It was empty. I blinked and sat up a little. Erik never got up this early, he usually liked to sleep in until nine.

"Erik?" I called out quietly. I received no answer.

I pulled back my blanket and stood up, wrapping my robe tightly around my body and sliding my feet into my slippers. I ducked my head through the tent flap, squinting in the gray morning light. "Erik?"

"Yes?"

I turned to the left and saw him sitting on a wooden crate with his violin in his lap. He was tuning it. Incredibly, he was already dressed, quite formally at that, with his red performance cloak and his black mask on his face. He wasn't looking at me.

"What the hell are you doing up so early?" I asked him, rubbing my eyes to make sure I wasn't seeing things. "You are usually not awake for two more hours.

"I'm going to walk about the streets and play."

"Whatever for?"

"So the girl will enjoy my music."

It took me a minute to realize what he was talking about. My heart sank a little; I had half-hoped that his fixation with the blond girl had only been spurred by his drunkeness the previous night. I needed to try and get his mind straight. I approached him and watched him methodically tune the instrument.

"Erik, I doubt that young lady will be up and about at this hour. Why don't you come back in and wait?"

He shook his head. "Perhaps she is leaving town. I want her to hear my music before she goes away."

I sighed. He really seemed to have finally lost all of his senses. "Erik, do you know this woman at all? Do you know where she lives? Has she ever spoken to you?"

"No."

"Then how do you expect to find her?"

"I won't stop playing until I see her."

I rubbed my face in frustration and went back into the tent. He simply did not understand; the man was obviously going mad. I did not know whether his eccentric behavior was just a part of his personality or if it was a result of a certain recent tragedy, but I could not do anything to stop him. If he wanted to play music for that stranger at seven in the morning, he would do it. As for me, I went back to bed and covered my head with my pillow. As soon as Erik finished tuning his violin he would start playing that damned music of his and I didn't want to hear it.

I laid there and waited.

Waiting.

There it was...the soft mewing of the strings. I stuffed my fingers in my ears but I could hear it, though muted, crying outside the tent. It was like listening to a baby wail. It caused my heart to thump loudly in alarm and my forehead to break out in a nervous sweat. I hated listening to it.

In a minute I heard Erik's feet start walking away from the tent and I breathed a sigh of relief. Now I could sleep in peace, in silence.

I regret this one short moment in my life, this decision to grumpily stay in bed and cover my ears to Erik's music, rather than follow him, attempt to stop him, or ask him to reconsider. I believe that this choice I made caused Erik even more pain in his already tortured life, and though he now assures me that I am his good friend, I don't think he forgives me for my carelessness.

My stomach still turns when I remember that afternoon. I woke up from a long, restful nap at about one o' clock, and dressed myself to go run an errand in the little market. I guessed I would see Erik in my travels, as he had seemed intent on walking about for hours playing his violin. I purchased some fruit, rice and dried meat for our supper that night, and on my way back to the tent I spotted the blond girl.

She was surrounded by a crowd of men who were clapping in rhythm to a strange foreign music I had not heard before. I could see the instruments being played by two old men and two old women. I craned my neck to see what the girl was doing and saw her dancing barefoot in the dirt, wearing a lovely little rose dress and shaking a tambourine. Her cheeks were painted a soft apple color and her golden hair was done up in two braids. She held a sunflower between her pearly white teeth.

I smiled. European girls were very charming and pretty, and this young lady was no exception. I watched her, like all the other men, and applauded for her when the music stopped and she curtsied.

The two old men and the two old women quickly ushered the girl away from the crowd, refusing to let her speak with any of her admirers. They packed up their instruments and walked away, heading towards a large caravan surrounded by other musicians and street performers. Apparently this girl had been a part of a circus of sorts, a small company of entertainers. From the looks of it, they were leaving town. Erik had been right in thinking that the girl might have been leaving town soon.

Speak of the devil...I wondered if he was here and had been watching her dance. I looked about at the quickly dissolving crowd and almost immediately spotted the tell-tale red cloak. He was facing opposite me, watching the young girl leave. His violin and his bow were in his hands, hanging by his side.

I smiled again. Perhaps he would get his chance to speak with her before she left. I continued on my way back to the tent.

I wish I had spoken with him.

That night, I had prepared supper for the two of us and sat on my cot, saying my prayers before I began to eat. I was a little confused as to why Erik had not returned yet, but I shrugged off my worries. Perhaps he had gotten lucky and had arranged to have dinner with the girl.

However, by ten o' clock he was still not back. I had hoped that he wasn't getting himself drunk again.

I fell asleep and woke up again at two. I peered through the darkness and could not see Erik on his cot. My heart dropped into my stomach.

I grabbed my robe and walked outside. Surprisingly, there were still some people out and about. I spoke with one sober looking man who did not seem too threatening.

"Sir...excuse me, sir. Did you see a man today walking about, with a violin and a red cloak?"

He rolled his eyes and hummed. "Ah..that strange looking fellow in the circus?"

I blinked. "He wasn't a part of the circus...did you see him there?"

"Yes, yes, with the caravan and the rest of the company. They left town today, did you know that? He went with them."

At first I thought I had misheard him. "No...sir, he's not a part of the company. He's a friend of mine."

He gave me a strange look. "He left with them. I saw him get into the caravan. Now, if you please, I must get back home. Good night, sir."

I felt sick. Erik had followed that girl all the way out of town.


	16. Chapter 16: Erik: Her

**ERIK: THE GHOST'S TALE**

-Her-

I could see her from where I stood in the caravan. My nose was pressed against the grimy window, my eyes wide open. I couldn't miss one moment of her performance, one twirl or leap.

I saw her eyes sparkle with firelight when she whirled about in my direction. She kicked her right leg into the air with skilled grace, and the firm skin of her calf glowed a soft white gold. They were the most remarkable legs I had ever seen on a woman.

Almost unexpectedly, anger boiled in my brain when I heard the men cheer and applaud her. Their disgusting eyes, traveling up and down her figure, drinking up her beauty. I felt that it was similar to rape. The girl was so soft-spoken, so innocent and gentle, that I did not feel that she deserved to be violated by greedy male eyes.

I wanted her for myself.

It may sound selfish to the average person, but no one could possibly understand the desire I felt for that girl when I looked at her. It was not only a physical desire that I was experiencing, either. Of course, I wanted to hold her in my arms and touch her, but I also wanted her to listen to me, to smile at me and laugh with me...

But most of all, I wanted to hear her sing.

She had not sung often. She was a dancer, and so she danced, but at times I would hear her sing to herself while she brushed her hair or walked across the circus grounds. She had the most gorgeous voice. It was wild and untrained, like an unbroken mare. I wanted more than anything to work with that voice, to help rein it in and tame it.

Many times I would catch myself running away with my dreams and I would reprimand myself sternly. I was a complete stranger to this girl, and if I so much as approached her and came on too strongly, I might loose her forever. I did not even know her name. She was Swedish and spoke in her native tongue, which I did not understand. If she had spoken her name in earshot I would not have picked it up.

There was another matter that was of greater concern to me, and that was my diseased face. My melted flesh, now a mass of hardened scar tissue, was less than attractive. It was an accident I've tried to erase from my memory, and I believe I have been successful, because I now have a difficult time remembering it, even when I try. It is better not to remember.

I took a step back from my window when the object of my affection finished her performance and walked off. My heart wanted to follow her and try to speak with her, but my mind refused, preferring to stay inside my caravan, where I was safe from embarrassment.

_Maybe tomorrow. _

I laid back on my small cot, bringing up my legs so my feet would not touch the wall. The circus company had grudgingly agreed to keep me, rather than tossing me off the caravan. I had told them I was a magician and a musician and that I would be glad to work for small pay. I was given a very small area of one of the caravans they pulled to sleep in.

I also felt a little guilty for leaving Nadir without explaining where I was going or what my intentions were. At the time of my leaving I had been so smitten with the Swedish girl I had not really thought to go and talk to him first. I wondered what he was doing now, if he was attempting to come after me or if he had given up on me. I hoped that he had done the latter. I had been too heavy of a burden for a good man like him.

The first two months that I spent traveling with Nadir were not the most glorious months of my life. In fact, it embarrasses me to even think about those times and I prefer not to dwell on them too much. I remember humiliating myself, stumbling back to the caravan, drunk out of my mind, only to find myself on the floor in the morning, staring up into Nadir's frustrated face. Then he'd grab my arm and haul me to my feet, scolding me and swearing at me while I only stared at him. I always mumbled apologies to him, but he ignored me.

I had never been a drinking man before until this point in my life. I enjoyed good wine occasionally, but I hadn't consumed such excessive amounts before. Mostly to blame was Aisha's death, but there were other factors, ones that I hadn't recognized at the time. Aisha was a good girl, and though I had not fallen completely in love with her, I had carried an infatuation for her; a schoolboy crush. Her death was difficult for me to take, indeed, but I suppose I released my other feelings that I had kept bottled up for quite a long time. I was furious, I was devastated, I was happy for leaving Mazanderan, and I was blindly enraged at Nadir for wrongly arresting me and having me punished for a crime I was innocent of. I knew it was a misunderstanding, and that he had only been carrying out his duties, but I knew that if he had been more careful in his investigation, I would never have been sent into Jafar's torture chamber.

The torture had also played a major part in my excessive drinking and deep depression. I had experienced pain before in my life; the ridicule directed at my face from others was enough to drive me to tears, but nothing I had felt compared to what I was forced to endure at Mazanderan. The memories of what Jafar exactly did to me are dim. I do remember being tied to a chair and a thin cord being looped around my neck and slowly tightened, so much that I could no longer breathe. I could hear his laughter, his hideous giggles, and his lips brushing against my cheek in a perverted kiss.

I shudder to even recall these foggy memories. If I think too hard about them now, the grisly details begin to float to the surface of my mind and I cannot think straight; I pace and breathe heavily, mopping my brow with my handkerchief, and I must lay on my bed in order to calm my traumatized heart.

Nadir, bless his wretched heart, felt it was best for him to try and help me, to make up for arresting me by mistake. He forged a suicide note for Nasser Shah, rounded up his faithful servant, Darius (who left during our journey after being freed by Nadir from his services), and left with me in his caravan.

To be honest, he drove me mad for the first few weeks after the daring escape. While I was immersed in one of my darkest depressions, I attempted to drown myself in the Caspian sea. Needless to say, Nadir dove into the waves to find me, a stupid and dangerous move in my eyes at the time. He had risked his life for a suicidal man; if he died, it would be a very pathetic and unworthy death.

Nevertheless, he was a good friend. Very few men had ever made a polite acquaintance with me. A man with a mask meant trouble and they either drove me away or steered clear of my path. It was nice to have a person of my own sex befriend me and attempt to help me.

I rolled over on my back and stared up at the gray roof of the car. The night had grown very silent.

A soft voice started to speak from outside the caravan, a female voice that I suddenly recognized.

_It's her..._

I sat up in bed, now alert, my heart glowing with fire. Perhaps now would be my chance. She could be walking back to her tent with a friend. I could stop her to speak with her, but...what excuse could I give her..._I just happened to hear you singing this morning and I...I thought your voice was very lovely..._

I stood up and went to the door and opened it very slightly.

There she was. I could see her standing not twenty feet away beside the car next to me. She wasn't alone, either.

There was a man standing with her with his back to me. He was wearing casual dress and he had light colored hair. I looked at the girl's face. Her lips were curved in a soft, affectionate smile, her eyes lowered shyly. I saw her shiver.

"Here, take my coat. You're freezing," the man said faintly. He removed his jacket and placed it around her small shoulders. She grinned and pulled the coat closely to her body.

"Thank you, Vicomte. It is cold tonight."

Ah. She spoke French. I had a way to communicate with her.

"Come, I'll walk you to your tent."

The two of them walked together, close, but not touching each other. I shut my door.

There was a very odd feeling burning in my heart now, and it was different from the excitement I had experienced beforehand. I had not felt this emotion before and it made me nervous. I sat down and set my head in my hands, trying to analyze myself and understand what was happening to me. My body felt drained very suddenly, my heart felt like lead.

_You're jealous...jealous of that man you saw with her._

"Jealous," I snorted. This prospect was embarrassing and I wasn't sure why.

I fell back on my cot with a thud and shut my eyes.

_I don't need her, any way..._

But I did.

------------------------------------------

"Now watch carefully, good ladies and gentlemen. Before your very eyes you will see this handsome pocket watch--disappear--into thin air!"

I rubbed my hands and as I spoke, the little gold instrument slipped into my right sleeve, creating an illusion and therefore delighting my small audience. The three gypsy girls who stood watching me gasped and clung to each other's skirts excitedly. The man whom I had borrowed the watch from turned red, thinking I had spirited away his expensive accessory.

"Not so fast, my friends. For two snaps-" I snapped my fingers twice, "and a wave-" I waved my right hand and the watch slipped back into my palm, "and the little thing is back. Here you are, my good man. Take good care of it." I handed the watch back to the man, who was flustered and tucked the thing back into his pockets amid the audience's laughter.

"That is all I have for today. Good morning," I announced, turning away from the crowd to indicate that was I finished. Everyone moved away, but I sensed the three young Gypsy girls still standing there, watching me. I turned a little and winked slightly at them, causing them to erupt in a fit of giggles. I walked away. Working the crowd was important if an entertainer expected people to come back every day to see a performance.

I headed for a small fire pit some distance from where I had been. The company cooked a meager breakfast for the amateur entertainers, usually consisting of fried eggs, dry bread and gruel. My stomach protested loudly for some sort of nourishment the whole walk to the fire. The group sitting around it in the dirt were quiet this morning, choosing to eat fast while the food was still hot. I hoped I had not arrived too late.

The woman at the fire dumped some of the contents from two pans and a pot onto a tin and handed it wordlessly to me. I took it and turned around, looking for a place to sit alone.

_It's her._

I could not believe what my eyes were seeing when I turned about. The Swedish woman was sitting on a small tree stump by herself with a plate of food, eating delicately with a bent fork. She was wearing a long blue dress and her hair had been let down.

Without even thinking I walked slowly to her and took a seat a foot or two away from her on the ground. I tried to focus on eating my breakfast but my mind was focused on the person who was sitting so near to me. My eyes went to her feet. They were in little white ballet shoes.

"Good morning," she said, without looking at me.

"Good morning," I replied, my throat dry.

_I don't know what to say to her...what should I do? She may have a beau...she was with that man last night. If I don't say anything to her, I may not see her again...does she know my name?_

I attempted to eat my food and not pay attention to her, at least for the time being. A bizarre idea was forming in my head: if I said nothing, perhaps she would notice me.

When I had finished the last of my bread I set the tin down before me and sighed deeply, trying to calm my raging emotions. I cast a glance at her face. Smooth skin, tired eyes, pale lips. I looked away quickly before she caught me. I breathed once, softly, and chanced another look. This time I met her blue eyes. I looked away immediately, mortified.

She laughed a little. "Do you want something, sir?" Good God. That voice. It was beautiful.

"No, no, nothing. Nothing," I said shortly, not looking at her.

She chortled again and turned away. I watched her out of the corner of my eye.

"Pardon me for asking...are you new here?" she asked me.

"Yes, I joined the company several days ago," I replied, finally turning to look at her. Her French was quite good, but her Swedish accent lay heavy on her words. Perhaps she was still learning.

"What do you do here?"

"I'm a magician," I said, folding my hands. She raised her eyebrows and seemed intrigued.

"That is good...I am a dancer here. Have you seen my dances?"

"Yes, a few times," I told her, remembering the way I had stared at her beautiful legs in the firelight. I felt ashamed for doing that now, when I was sitting before her in the flesh. "You are a talented dancer."

"Thank you!" she cried softly, genuinely pleased by my compliment. "I am still learning. I have danced since I was a child. I sing sometimes, too. My family is very musical, my father used to play the violin and my mother played the pianoforte." She set down her empty plate on the ground. "My name is Christine, Christine Daae. What is yours?"

_Christine. Christine. _I could not forget that name. "Ah...my name is Erik...Ibrahim."

She smiled. "I am pleased to meet you, Erik. Are you from France?"

"Yes, I was born here, in Rouen."

Christine pulled her hair back with both of her hands and I fantasized running my hands through it. "That is very good. Will you come to my dance tonight? I would be honored if you came to see me. There will be music and good wine."

"Yes, I will come. I will be there."

She grinned, stood, and walked away. Her hips swayed gently in rhythm. I was in heaven.

-------------------------------------------

I attended the dance that night, along with thirty other admirers who sat around the fire and drank heartily from the provided wine. For the first time in quite a while, I passed up the bottle, wanting to see Christine's dance while sober. I wanted to be alert, to see every movement she made, to see where she was looking, or who she was looking at.

I noticed that the young man whom she had called "Vicomte" the other night was also attending, standing in the back of the group with his arms behind his back. He had a smile on his face, and his blue eyes kept blinking as he gazed around. I wondered if he was looking for something.

Christine made her entrance into the circle, wearing a white frilly dress and waving a red silk scarf about in the air. Her hair was still down, not braided, and it floated gently behind her. This time I was not looking at her legs, but at her face. Her hair wrapped about her head and strands of it caught between her lips, which I found highly rousing. She looked so calm; dancing was effortless to her, as simple as walking. A gifted woman.

When she had finished, she curtsied gently to her applauding admirers, blowing kisses and laughing. Her eyes turned to me.

I met her eyes and smiled. Her expression softened slightly...she returned my smile and pressed one finger in a subtle gesture to her lips before turning to greet the Vicomte fellow, who touched her shoulder. However, at this point, I was not focused on my jealousy now. Christine filled my thoughts, my senses, my being, and that night I stared at the ceiling, thinking only of her laughter, her eyes, and the finger pressed to her lips.

_Say not a word..._


	17. Chapter 17: Erik: Near and Far

A/N: Happy new year, everyone. And thank you to Timeflies and Avatarded for their recent reveiws. :)**  
**

**ERIK: THE GHOST'S TALE**

-Near and Far-

My brief encounter with Christine Daae changed me. Every morning when I woke, I felt light, careless, like I could live forever, thriving on mere thoughts of her. I had not spoken to her since I had last met her at breakfast three days ago. When I was not performing, I made sure to walk about the grounds often in the hopes that I would "happen" to run into her, or simply exchange a glance with her. I saw her on the grounds most of these times , but she was also speaking with someone else; a female friend, several male admirers, or the young "Victome" she seemed fond of.

Truth be told, I was still jealous of that man. It was obvious they were carrying on some sort of relationship, perhaps a close friendship if not a romantic relationship. It bothered me. I did not want to barge into her private matters, but then again, I did not want to lose her completely to this stranger. I was being torn in two directions.

For the time being, however, I chose to admire from afar. I had no courage to walk up to her and speak with her. What would I say? I didn't want to be frank with her and tell her that I found her attractive, but I did not want to lie to her either. God, there were so many directions my mind wanted to take, and I felt that I would never be able to choose just one.

I picked up my small broken hand mirror on the floor to look at myself before I ventured outside. My face was safely hidden by my soft black kerchief. I touched the fabric gently, feeling the shape of my scars beneath it. My affliction had been hurting me as of late, and it had taken me a little while to understand why. The tissue was sore because I had been smiling more often, causing it to bend and shape in new positions. Christine gave me happiness, but she also caused me pain.

I put on my cloak and walked out of the caravan, breathing deeply in the cool air. I smelled the meat of some animal roasting over a spit, and I heard gentle female laughter and male chatter some distance into the camps. Perhaps I could pass by and have a filling dinner, for once. My meals had been rather sparse every since I entered this circus, and sometimes I remembered the large suppers I used to eat when I was traveling with Nadir.

Unfortunately, by the time I wandered over to the fire, I saw people, bidding each other goodnight and starting to leave. They'd finished their supper already and the animal over the fire was reduced to a skeleton. I sighed and turned to leave.

"Oh...sir! Sir magician."

I turned my head immediately at the sound of the crystal voice. My face flushed and my heart swelled with excitement. That was Christine calling for me.

She was trotting after me, holding up her skirts with one hand. "Ah...sir...Erik, yes?"

"Yes, yes, Erik," I stammered, pleased that she had remembered my name. "Christine. Good evening."

She smiled and bowed her head gently. "Erik, I see that you have missed the festivities. Would you like to come to my tent for supper? That is, if you are hungry."

"I am very hungry," I told her. It took every thread of self-control I had to keep my mouth from rising in a large and very stupid grin. Her invitation to her tent,_her _home, thrilled me. Of course, she was only offering me supper, not an opportunity to share an embrace with her, but nevertheless I was excited.

Christine seemed delighted. She clasped her hands together and bounced a little on her toes. "How lovely. I'm making pea soup. I'm positive you will enjoy it...come, follow me. I'll take you to my tent."

I let her lead me across the grounds, watching her soft blond braid swing back and forth as she walked. She walked like a typical dancer; strong, confident in her stride, with a slight spring in her step. It was quite mesmerizing and if I hadn't been careful, I might have walked completely into her.

"Here we are. Step inside," Christine announced as we arrived at a decently sized tent. She ducked inside the flap.

The interior of her living space was quite cozy and surprisingly warm considering the chilly night air. There was a striped red and blue rug spread out on the ground and a very small fire pit on the other side of the tent. She was fussing with the kindling, lighting a match and tossing it beneath the wood.

She also had a small table sitting in the center of her living quarters with four cushions sitting on the floor. I assumed she liked to have visitors over often for supper.

"Take a seat, please, sir magician," Christine told me as she took a pot out of a burlap back and began digging around in a crate. I found it endearing the way she called me "sir magician" with her gentle Swedish accent. I sat down on one of the cushions and rested my hands in my lap.

I was a little amused, watching Christine prepare supper. She was so busy, hovering over the soup and preparing the dishes amid the smells of onion and pork and the sound of the pea soup bubbling. Her braid flipped over each shoulder each time she turned about quickly. I watched her body as she moved, noting her perfect balance, the way her feet were flat on the floor, and I could not help but admire the well developed muscles of her calves.

"I'm sorry for the wait," she said over her shoulder. I smiled.

"Don't apologize," I told her. "I am a patient man."

She laughed, turning back to cast me a glance. Her eyes sparkled.

When the food was ready to serve she poured two bowls of soup and set two plates of onions and small slices of pork. The meal was delicious, and the largest I had eaten in quite some time. I must have been eating a little ravenously because when I looked up at Christine, she looked like she was holding back laughter.

"You enjoy the food, sir?"

I swallowed. "Yes, it is very good. Do you cook often?"

"All the time, sir. I love to cook. My family loves good food."

I looked back down at my bowl, stirring my soup slowly. "Are you close to your family? You seem quite fond of them."

Christine grinned irresistibly and dabbed the corner of her mouth with her napkin. "Yes, sir. My family is very dear to me. My father especially. I told you, didn't I...he played the violin? Yes...he used to play for me and I would dance. We even traveled some, he and I, around our town, and performed for the townspeople. My mother, I loved too, but I was not as close to her as I was to my father. She was somewhat cold with me."

"I'm sorry," I said quietly.

"Oh, no, you mustn't be, I was a happy child," she replied hurriedly. I saw her glance up at me. "If you don't mind my asking...how did you come to be a magician here?"

I ate one last spoonful of my soup and pushed my bowl away. "Ah...I was a magician in Persia. I was employed by the Sultan of Mazanderan. I left after two years and traveled to Rouen, my birthplace, as you know...and I came here to work." I preferred telling her the warm, shortened explanation of my employment in Persia; a young woman like her should not hear of such atrocities as torture and death.

Christine's doe eyes widened at my mention of Persia. "How strange...I have never been to an exotic land like Persia. Tell me, was it beautiful?"

"Yes...it was beautiful."

The two of us had finished our supper and Christine began taking our dishes. "Thank you for the soup, it was very good," I told her, folding my napkin and setting it on the table.

"You're most welcome, sir magician."

"Call me Erik. Please."

I saw her lips rise in a smile. "All right...Erik."

The sound of my name on her tongue was like tasting sweet wine. I would never tire of her voice speaking my name.

I reclined back on my elbows as I watched Christine begin to clean the dishes in a wooden bucket. I was growing a little more comfortable in her living quarters here, and I felt at ease in her presence. My courage and my boldness was beginning to strengthen.

"Will you sing?"

She paused in her dishwashing for a moment. I saw her squeeze the wash rag gently. "Do you wish it?" she asked me without turning.

"Yes," I sighed. "Very much."

She set down the plate she was holding and turned to look at me. She looked unexpectedly serious. Had I said something wrong?

"I do not sing often, Erik..."

"I think your voice is beautiful."

She blushed visibly and turned her head a little, clasping her thin hands.

"You wish to hear it?" she repeated, in a whisper.

"I do."

Christine bit her lip and came to sit beside me on the cushion. I did not understand why she seemed so nervous all of a sudden. Her voice was exquisite, her confidence unwavering. She did not have a reason, at least that I saw, to be afraid to sing for me.

I watched her red lips open, and from her golden throat came the voice of an angel. She was singing a song in Swedish, and I could not understand the words, but her voice...I cannot describe it. It caused a warm shiver to run up my back, and yet my hands and feet grew cold; I shut my eyes and lowered my head, breathing deeply through my mouth as if I were inhaling a vaporous drug. Her voice was the purest I had ever heard, raw and untouched by a trained maestro. God, I wanted so badly to touch that voice, to take it into my hands and mold it into the most beautiful sound any man had ever heard.

I was almost unaware that she had finished. It took me several moments to gather myself from my entranced state of mind and focus on her. Drawing myself up to a sitting position, I breathed deeply through my nose and opened my eyes.

"Sir...Erik?"

I turned to look at her. Her cheeks glowed rosy, her bosom rose and fell sharply, and I was startled to see tears glistening in her eyes.

"What...what is the matter?" she whispered.

"Nothing," I replied, my voice husky. "That was a beautiful song."

She looked a little embarrassed and glanced away from me. "Thank you. It is an old lullaby my father used to sing me."

I found myself leaning closer to her. She did not lean away.

"I promise you..." I breathed. My heart was thundering hard in my chest, and my eyes accidentally dropped to her full lips, slightly parted, moist. I felt an almost uncontrollable urge to press my mouth to them, to slip my tongue between those lips, and take her with me to the floor. In my love starved mind I fantasized disrobing each other and our bodies joining in the darkest, deepest expressions of love known to man.

My desire was becoming obvious and I discreetly moved my cloak to hide it. She suspected nothing. I tried to calm my raging passions and reminded myself that she was still a stranger to me, and I to her.

"I promise you, Christine...I will take your voice, and I will shape it in my hands to become the most exquisite voice anyone has ever heard. You have _so much_ potential, my child...you are an angel."

All of a sudden, her flushed face paled and she stood abruptly, looking shaken.

"Leave, sir."

I stared at her. My heart had dropped into my stomach with a sickening thud.

"Go." Her once-soft eyes were now very hard. "I do not know you, sir. You are only a magician in this circus, performing your petty sleight of hand tricks for the people! I have only just met you three days ago! How am I to believe that you will not hurt me! I saw the look in your eyes just this moment. You will not take my body or my voice. My singing is reserved for those that I love. Leave now." She raised a shaking finger to the tent flap.

I was stunned. My passion began to boil into rage. My jaw clenched and my hands flexed into brief fists. I stood up quickly and walked straight out of the tent, but apparently Christine was not finished. There was one more blow she needed to deliver to my pride.

"If you wish to see me again, perhaps you should think about removing that mask of yours! Are you a thief?"

My brain seared hot with anger and I turned on her. It took everything I had not to raise my hand and strike her. She cowered beneath my eyes.

"You will NOT...speak of my mask in that way," I hissed, sending spittle onto her cheeks. "If you are wise you will shut your mouth and you will give me the respect I deserve. Foolish bitch."

I turned on my heel and stalked away. I felt like my brain was afire. How dare she talk to me in such a way, and to mention my mask...if any man had made that comment to me, I may have killed him or injured him in some way...but she was female, I could not bring myself to harm her.

I returned to my caravan and tossed my cloak on the floor, humiliated to see that my ridiculous male desires had not subsided and were very evident. I wondered with horror if she had perhaps noticed this at all during our encounter; I prayed to God she hadn't.

I lay down on my cot, but I could not sleep. My mind was running wild with Christine. Her voice, her eyes, her body, and the look on her face when I had expressed my private promise to her.

God, I loved her.

"_You will not take my body or my voice."_


End file.
